The Cowboy and the Southern Belle
by Bonanza Becky
Summary: Adam returns home to his family after fighting in the Civil War. His father and brothers try to help him as he struggles to recover and find his place on the Ponderosa again and then—he meets someone unexpected. Who knew Doctor Paul Martin had a niece! This story is about the indestructible strength of a newly reunited family and the blossoming love between two healing hearts.
1. Chapter 1

**The Cowboy and the Southern Belle**

 **Prologue**

 **April 9, 1865**

A lone horse galloped across the flat, barren plains at a dizzying speed, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Aware of the tension in its master's body, the horse sensed his urgency and as he leaned forward in the saddle, it plummeted onward, muscles flexing along the strong legs. Two hearts pounding wildly, mane and hair flying in the wind as the sweat of man and beast flowed freely down their bodies. When the familiar ranch came into sight, tears stung the rider's eyes and the horse made a last effort and sprinted towards home. The rider leaped from the saddle before the animal had even come to a stop and he ran on unsteady legs to the front door of the house, throwing it open.

"Pa! Hoss! It's over!"

Charging into the sitting room, he skidded along the floorboards before he dug the heels of his boots down, reaching out his hands to steady himself on the back of the settee.

"It's finally over!"

Ben Cartwright dropped his book and slowly rose from his chair, staring in shock at his youngest son whose cheeks were streaked with tears and dirt. Seeing the truth in the young man's pooling eyes, Ben's mouth fell open.

"Oh, thank God!" he choked out and stumbled forwards. He suddenly felt a strong arm support him and his middle son's strength was the only thing holding him up as he stood there, embraced between his two boys.

"He'll come home now, Pa. He can finally come home."

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 ** _July 8, 1865_**

Adam Cartwright sat with his back against an oak tree, looking out across the sparkling lake. The sun hung low in the pink sky and in the distance, clouds of almost purple cloaked the tops of the mountains like a layer of cotton wool. He let his head fall back and sighed. It was hauntingly beautiful. Funny how, with all the travelling he'd done throughout his life, nothing stirred him like this place did. Here, he could almost pretend that he was whole again. And at the same time—this was the one place where he didn't have to pretend anything.

It was the second evening in the short time he'd been home that he was visiting Marie's grave. Since he was a youngster, he'd been coming here to reminisce and his father and brothers sometimes did too. The very ground was memory-soaked at this place. A slow smile formed across his mouth as he recalled the day he'd ridden out here to share his acceptance letter from West Point with his stepmother. It had been a dream come true when he'd been accepted into one of the country's finest schools in engineering and science. Marie would have been thrilled for him had she lived, no doubt, but his father had been in two minds at the time. After all, West Point was one long way from Nevada and four years was a long time. But the military academy offered up the best all-around education a young man could get and Adam had argued that point again and again. He'd also assured his Pa that he had no intention of pursuing a military career but that he planned to return home with the knowledge and abilities to bring progress to the Ponderosa.

Adam shifted as he sat against the tree, the smile fading from his face. Thinking back on it now, he could never have imagined how the military side of his education would define him and impact his life years later.

When the war had broken out in '61, he'd known that he would have to go. No matter how his family felt about it. There had been a lot of arguing because his father had stubbornly tried to reason that the conflict didn't concern them all the way out in the West, while Adam had maintained that they were still a part of the country and that being a West Point graduate, it certainly did concern him. He still remembered his father's accusing tone so clearly.

" _I thought that you attended West Point to study engineering and architecture_ — _not to become a soldier?!"_

Adam had recognized the underlying fear that fueled the words and his response had been soft and gentle.

" _Pa, it's just something that I have to do."_

And with that simple sentence, the matter was settled. Although his family had embraced him with feeling before he'd ridden off, he'd wondered countless times since then if they deep down resented him for it.

As it turned out, it was much easier to join the army than it was to eventually leave it four years later. When he'd left the Ponderosa to go to war, he never would have thought that he'd waver in making the decision to return home after it was all over. If he were honest with himself—after the first year of fighting—he hadn't expected to be making any such decision either way. Nevertheless, when it did end, he was not only still alive, but he was a Union captain in command of a fine company of men and highly respected by his superior officers. And several of his commanders and colleagues had tried to persuade him into furthering his military career.

Yes, he'd hesitated before resigning his commission. But his heart was at the Ponderosa and he'd known it all along.

He'd returned home on July 3, two years to the day that had marked the end of the battle of Gettysburg. A day that held so many painful memories for him that he'd considered camping out another night instead of going to the ranch, unsure if he was in a state to be reunited with his family. But as his hold on the reins had slackened, Sport had recognized the way and calmly walked onward, and Adam had allowed the horse to take them both home.

That was five days ago and even now, Adam could visualize the scene of his return as if it had happened just this afternoon.

 _He rode quietly into the yard, physically and emotionally exhausted as he took in the sight of his home. The home he'd designed and helped build. He imagined his family sitting inside; his Pa in the big red chair, his brothers on the settee, struggling to best each other in a game of checkers. It seemed like something he'd only ever seen in a dream. After dismounting, he began loosening the straps securing his saddlebags when the nagging worry that had plagued him for weeks, overcame him._

 _How would they feel about seeing him? Would he be welcome?_

 _He leaned his arms on the saddle, dropping his head and he vaguely thought how absurd it was that after being at war for years, it was the fear of rejection now that almost brought him to his knees. Then he heard footsteps coming from the barn behind him, and he knew instantly who it was._

" _Adam. . .?"_

 _The effort it took for him to step away from Sport, was humongous. But he did it, and he slowly turned around to see his youngest brother approaching him with cautious steps, carrying a horse brush in his hand. Joe stopped dead in his tracks and the brush slipped onto the ground with a thud. Adam watched him anxiously, not knowing what to say, and although Joe was now a young man of twenty, Adam could only see the little boy he'd come home to after graduating from West Point once upon a time. Then, when he saw his baby brother's chin begin to quiver, he just held out his arms. Suddenly, Joe sprinted forwards and flung himself into him, nearly knocking Adam off his feet. He would never forget the feeling of that soft chestnut hair tickling his chin and cheek as the kid clung to him, the slim arms wrapped tightly around his neck._

 _After a moment Joe tried to call out something, but his voice broke and he shuddered in Adam's hold before he tried again._

" _Pa, Hoss! He's here!_

 _The sound of the front door opening reached them seconds later, and Adam gently loosened his grip on Joe. It wasn't long before he was lifted off the ground in a bear hug by Hoss who let out an ecstatic laugh, his eyes countless shades of blue swirling around in a whirlpool of emotions._

 _When Adam was finally set back down, dizzy and overwhelmed, he caught sight of his father standing a couple of feet away. Such a short distance, yet it seemed like miles away as he closed it. He stopped in front of the older man and looked into the face he'd pictured so often on the battlefield when he'd needed the strength to carry on. The face he'd known his whole life. That face was wet with tears and Adam tried valiantly to swallow the lump in his throat._

" _Pa . . ."_

 _His father opened his arms to him like he'd done himself minutes before with Joe and Adam readily stepped into the embrace, feeling the strongest, most loving arms in the world wrap around him._

" _Welcome home, son. Oh, welcome home."_

The sun had almost disappeared completely when Adam broke free of his wandering thoughts. His legs were numb from sitting in the same position for so long and he carefully massaged his left thigh where he knew, under the black fabric was a small scar, a souvenir from Fredericksburg. He got up and stiffly walked over to where Sport stood waiting. The horse's white muzzle sought his hand and he stroked it affectionately.

"I think we're ready to go home, boy. What do you say?"

Sport tossed his head as if in agreement and Adam mounted up and rode on home.

* * *

The sound of a horse snorting outside made Hoss and Joe freeze where they stood by the front door. They both turned back to their father who lowered himself down into his red chair, closing his eyes in relief. When Ben looked up again, his two sons were still standing by the door and he waved hastily at them. The two brothers became a blur of movement as they fumbled with their gun belts and shrugged out of their jackets. After slamming their hats back onto the hooks on the wall, they hurried across the room. Joe reached wildly for the checkerboard on the table and Hoss dropped down on the settee, leaning back with his arms stretched out along the backrest as he tried to look the picture of relaxation. Ben fought against a growing smile when Joe began studying the checkerboard in deep concentration like he had been sat that way for the last hour.

A few seconds later, the door creaked open and Adam came into the house.

"Sorry I'm late Pa, I just wanted to let you know that I'm home now in case you were getting ready to send out a search party." He unstrapped his gun belt and laid it on the dresser by the door.

Ben regarded him with a warm smile. "That's all right, son. Actually, we hadn't really noticed how late it was."

Adam glanced over at his family, studied them for a moment and then wordlessly turned away.

"All right then."

They could practically hear the raised eyebrow in his voice. When he moved back towards the front door, Joe sprang up, nearly knocking over the checkerboard.

"Where are you going Adam?"

"I'm just gonna brush Sport down and put him up for the night."

"I'll take care of it Adam," Hoss said and stood from the settee. "You just come in and put them feet up."

"Hoss, you don't have to do that I—"

"Shucks, I want to. Me an' old Sport need to get proper reacquainted anyway."

Hoss moved past Adam and had one hand on the door latch when he suddenly swung back around.

"Just make sure that HE"—he pointed a thick finger at Joe—"don't go tampering with them checker pieces."

With that, the big man disappeared out the door and Adam did a little fond head shake as he went over to sit down in his favorite blue chair. Feeling two sets of eyes on him, he turned to look questioningly at his little brother and father. Ben coughed and closed the open book lying in his lap.

"There is a plate of supper for you in the kitchen. It shouldn't take long to heat up."

"Thanks Pa," Adam said and stretched out his long legs onto the floor, "but I'm not really hungry."

Frowning, Ben considered his firstborn.

"Adam," he said gently, "I know it's going to take some time for you to get used to regular meals again, but you really should try to eat something. You heard Paul, you could do with gaining back some weight. You haven't had a lot today."

Adam closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I wish you hadn't made Paul come all the way out here. I'm fine Pa, just a little worn out and tired from the long journey. A month of traveling, most of it spent in the confined space of a train booth"—he paused to let out a sigh—"I'd wager that by the end, I was even more sick of it than Sport was."

"Come now, you know that Paul would have been one of the first people to come out to see you, regardless. I'm pretty sure that a little food in your stomach now will help you sleep later too." Ben waved his book at his son in warning. "Besides, Hop Sing made another of your favorites, you wouldn't want to face him tomorrow morning after he finds your untouched supper, would you?"

A slow smile tugged at Adam's lips, but his eyes remained closed.

"What'd he make?"

Joe, who had been silently following the conversation, recognized his brother's surrender and spoke up.

"He made that beef stew with the cornbread you like Adam, it was really good. You know, as a matter of fact, I could do with a little bowl myself." Joe winked over at their father. "I'll just go and heat some up for us!"

Adam opened his eyes just as his young sibling bounded for the kitchen, then he looked over at the red chair where his father was now pretending to read his book.

"All right, how long is this gonna go on for, hmm?"

Ben peeled his eyes from the page with great effort and looked up, wearing a carefully prepared mask of innocence. The subtle half smile that adorned his handsome son's face, indicated that there was no serious trouble, so Ben relaxed a little. He closed his book and shuffled in the chair.

"Adam, I realize that you feel we are being perhaps a little overprotective."

" _A little_?!" Adam's eyes widened incredulously. "Yesterday, when those brothers of mine and I came home from our ride, I dismounted and twisted the wrong way. It was just a twitch that caught an old scar and Hoss demanded he carry me inside the house!"

Ben looked alarmed. "Why didn't anyone tell me—when was this?!"

"Pa!"

Carefully, Ben fingered the spine of the book as he put it on the table.

"As I said, I understand how you feel. But we spent four years not knowing where you were, not knowing if you were hurt or . . . or—" He broke off with a gulp. When he faced his son again, Adam's countenance was already softening, and Ben continued.

"I can't imagine the hell you went through during that time. But we went through our own little hell right here on the Ponderosa too. We missed you terribly."

"I wrote you letters Pa," Adam said quietly. "It was almost impossible getting messages across the country. I didn't know if any of them would reach you."

Ben smiled a little then. "Oh yes, we did get a few of your letters, we sat right here and read them together. Joe still has them in his room. Although I suspected that you were putting on a brave front as you wrote them."

Avoiding his father's gaze, Adam spoke in a low voice. "It wouldn't have done you any good to know how bad things were."

"No, maybe you're right." Ben nodded in sad acceptance. "But you are home now, and none of us expect you to just be the older brother or the son you were before. We know that things have happened, awful things. But I want you to understand that we are here, ready to hear about it. However awful it may be."

Adam shook his head, his expression pained but Ben rose from his chair and went over to perch on the edge of the table by his boy.

"Those years are part of you, Adam. And every little piece of information you've shared with us about that time, scarce as it has been, is a gift to us."

Although Adam kept his head down, Ben could tell that he was listening, considering the words.

"Now, you have always been tight-lipped about your troubles," Ben said, his eyes betraying a deep regret, "but you have to realize that your brothers are not children anymore and those protective instincts that you have harbored towards them all of their lives, must not prevent you from being honest."

His tone then turned almost brusque. "And don't you go thinking that your poor, old Pa will break from hearing what his boy went through in this horrendous war." He rubbed a hand across the deep lines embedded in his forehead. "We are trying to give you space and time alone but please son, don't shut us out."

Finally, Adam met his father's eyes and they shared a long, silent look. Then, he settled back into the blue chair and treated Ben to a show of dimples.

"All right Pa. I'll try."

The muscles in Ben's face gradually relaxed, and he put a hand on Adam's knee, giving it a squeeze. "That's all I ask."

He got up and returned to his seat, picking up the book from the table.

"Oh, and as for the _mollycoddling_ as you would call it," he said, eyeing his eldest meaningfully, "allow me to spoil you a bit. I doubt that you have been spoiled much for the last long while."

Ben returned to his book and Adam's smile stayed in place. He continued watching his father and then broke the silence again with his deep baritone voice.

"Tell me Pa, did you really not notice how late I was?"

Ben stared down at a yellowed page and let out a mumble. "Hmpf. The boys were on their way out when we heard you ride in."

Adam tilted his head back, chuckling deeply and the sound made Ben's heart swell with joy although he never looked up from the book.

* * *

"Pass me them eggs, will ya Joe?"

Joe put down his fork and handed the plate of eggs to his big brother across the table. "You sure slept in this morning. When I walked past your room I could hear you snoring like a bear, I didn't think anything could wake you!"

"Yea well, I guess it's a good thing I have myself this healthy appetite," Hoss said, loading his plate. "My stomach dun woke me up and reminded me I needed breakfast."

With a grin, Joe sipped at a glass of orange juice as Ben came out of the kitchen with a coffee pot.

"Good morning, Hoss," he said cheerily, then glanced at the empty chair at the other end of the table. "Adam still asleep?"

"Well Pa, if'n he is, I reckon he must need it. I woke up and heard him movin' about in his room in the middle of the night. It sure don't seem like he's getting' a lot of rest." Hoss' big hands stopped beside his plate and his forehead puckered.

Holding up the coffee pot, Ben stared at the black liquid pouring into his cup. "We know it's going to take him a while to get back into the rhythm of things. I expect he's gotten used to living on very little sleep. The more he can get the better, no matter the time of day."

Just then, those familiar footsteps hit the top of the stairs to the sitting room and the family looked over and saw Adam coming down, dressed in his customary black shirt and pants.

"Morning," he said and received a chorus of "good mornings" in return. He came over to the table and sat down heavily in a chair. Without a word, Joe passed him the coffee pot which he took gratefully.

"I hope you got some decent rest," Ben said, studying Adam.

When no immediate response came, he inclined his head towards his youngest son. "Joe was thinking about taking a ride up to Silver Creek, it's the perfect day for it." Ben looked back at Adam. "It's been a long time since you've been there, perhaps you and Hoss should join him."

"Yea Adam," Joe piped up. "I spotted a herd of wild horses up there a couple of times last week. There are some real beauties, I bet we could get a look at them."

"Hey that's a right fine idea Joe, we could even get ol' Hop Sing to make some sandwiches, make it like a proper outing 'n all."

Adam observed the enthusiastic faces of his brothers, a faint smile tickling his lips. He threw a look at his father opposite him. "The Ponderosa finally started to run itself while I was gone?"

Recognizing his son's mirthful expression, Ben responded calmly, "I am sure the Ponderosa will be just fine even if you boys take a day of leisure. Anyway, should you get bored, I seem to recall some fences needing mending up in that area."

The two younger brothers' faces fell, but Adam just continued to smile.

"Well, come on then," Ben said as he handed the eggs to Joe, gesturing for him to pass them on to Adam. "The sooner you boys finish your breakfast, the sooner you can get going!"

* * *

The three Cartwright brothers spent the morning in cheerful moods enjoying each other's company. As they rode along the green hillsides, Adam fell quiet at times, taking in the scenery around him. Whenever that happened, Hoss and Joe just shared a look and left him alone, knowing that he needed a few moments to himself. They easily kept the conversation flowing and prevented Adam from drawing into himself too much.

Mostly, they talked about all the things that had been happening on the ranch and around town while he'd been away. Adam was grateful for their endless chatter for once even though he wasn't one for gossip, and truthfully, the latest news and scandals of Virginia City did tend to fly straight by him. Still, he'd missed this. Just hearing their voices. They also told him about how they'd heard of General Lee's surrender and they described the celebration that had gone on in town where church bells and guns had rung out and flags had flown in the streets. Adam listened quietly as a vacant sheen glazed his eyes, remembering how the news of Lee's surrender had reached him and his men that fateful day in April.

The reaction had been instant and overpowering; the men had yelled in elation and waved their hats, some had turned to each other, shaken hands, slapped each other's backs while a few had even fired their guns in salute. And Adam had allowed all of it. He'd let them rejoice in their own ways but being their captain, he'd kept a professional air about him. After four years of the ongoing nightmare, he had hardly been able to believe that it was over himself. His first thoughts had gone to his family as he'd wondered when they would hear the news.

It still seemed surreal that he was here now, back with them, riding alongside his brothers across the land they all loved so much. Joe especially, had changed a lot during his absence and whenever Adam looked over at his little brother sitting straight and confident in the saddle, it was with pride tempered by a pang of sadness. Four years was a long time. The kid had sure grown up.

To Adam's relief, Hoss seemed the same as always except for the fact that his tracking skills had evidently only gotten better with the years. He found the tracks of the wild horses that Joe had mentioned pretty easily.

They carefully followed the trail and spotted the group of wild beasts grazing in a meadow about half a mile down Silver Creek. Like Hoss and Joe, Adam was awed by the beautiful creatures in their natural element and it was a special moment the three of them shared together.

By the time Hoss' rumbling stomach pried the brothers' attention away from the horses, it was well past noon. Without discussing it, they rode to their favorite spot—a place where they'd often gone fishing as children. They sat down on the grassy bank overlooking the free-flowing creek, in the shade of the trees. Hoss got out the bag of food that Hop Sing had packed for them and as he laid its contents out, Adam was amazed at the sheer amount the little cook had crammed in there. Seeing Adam's expression, Hoss laughed. "Easy there, older brother, no one expects you to eat all of that by yurself!"

Although Adam did think that Hop Sing had overdone it a little with cooking all his favorites and loading him with food every chance he got, his eyes closed involuntarily as he bit into a smoked ham and mustard sandwich.

"Mmm. . . Hop Sing sure knows how to make a ham sandwich."

"He sure does," Joe said, "I guess it's pretty different to what you've been used to eating in the army . . ."

Adam had just taken another bite but hearing a strange tone in his little brother's voice, he stopped chewing and turned to him. Joe sat cross-legged and tentatively looked up through his brown lashes. Forcing the mouthful down, Adam lowered the sandwich to his lap.

"Different, yea. It wasn't exciting, to say the least. Plain and monotonous. It had to be that way though, because of the long distances that rations had to be transported. Mostly we got food that could be preserved well, like raw, salted meat and canned goods. And hardtack." He paused, pursing his lips. "Of course, the officers were offered slightly better choices, but I wasn't prone to eating better food than my men."

He raised his sandwich again, aware that his brothers were staring at him, their own food forgotten.

"That don't sound very appetizing at all, Adam." Hoss stuck a hand up underneath his hat to scratch his head. "Who did the cookin'?"

Adam halted, his sandwich halfway in his open mouth. With a little smile, he lowered it again.

"Actually Hoss, no one in particular did it, at least not in the beginning. It wasn't like out here where we have chuckwagons and specialized cooks. We had to do it all ourselves mostly, but it wasn't the easiest ingredients to cook with and we certainly had a couple of disasters." He grimaced, remembering all too clearly some of the foul foods he'd been forced to eat. "A lot of the boys hadn't really cooked before, so they didn't know how to best prepare the food, but they did get better. Everyone took turns at it, myself included. Well, that is until I made a dreadful stew which resulted in the men relieving me permanently of cook duty."

As expected, Joe and Hoss took one look at each other, then burst out laughing. Adam's cooking skills had always been a source of great suffering and at times even greater amusement in the family. He graciously overlooked their laughter and continued on, his face lighting up as a particular event from the past came back to him.

"There was one time in the winter, a couple of years into the war. We had been camped for a month waiting for orders and everyone was filthy and constantly cold. The morale was very low. I took a couple of scouts with me and we went out into the woods, found some deer tracks. We walked out of that forest an hour later pulling two massive deer, the biggest I've ever come across." Adam's whole countenance was alive with the memory and his voice took on a wistful tone. "The looks on their faces when we came into camp. . . those soldiers looked like children at Christmas time."

Slowly, his eyes cleared. He turned to his transfixed brothers, gesturing with his sandwich in the air. "Anyway, I was forgiven for my awful stew, but I was strictly forbidden from going anywhere near the area where our supper of venison was being prepared."

Hoss and Joe watched him continue to eat his sandwich.

"So . . . you were a captain, huh?" Joe looked at him with obvious pride.

"Mmmh"

"I bet you were a good one too."

Adam sighed and his gaze drifted to the little waves of the creek.

"I don't know if I was, Joe."

Then he brought a hand up to tousle Joe's wild locks. "But I do know that it was a whole lot easier getting a hundred men to listen to me than it ever was getting the two of you to do as you were told!"

Hoss and Joe laughed again, and Adam let the sound wash over him. Yes, he'd missed this, just hearing their voices. His own chuckle mingled with theirs as he looked out across the glittering water, relishing the feeling of being reunited with his brothers.

* * *

 _Author's Notes_

 _So, if you're reading this, you probably got through the first chapter and that makes me happy! This is my first Bonanza story and I am new here, so any thoughts/reviews from you guys would be most welcome and appreciated. This story is slightly AU since I have chosen to incorporate the Civil War and played around with the Bonanza timeline a little bit (as I believe they occasionally did on the show too). Oh, and I sent Adam to West Point._

 _Although this is a bit different to other Bonanza fics, I have tried hard to stay true to the characters and their relationships with one another because they are the reason I love the show so much. Hopefully I have succeeded, at least to some degree, and I hope some of you will get a bit of enjoyment out of exploring this slightly different take on a Bonanza story where the Cartwrights deal with the war on a very personal level. I have several chapters written already._

 _I do not own any of the recognizable Bonanza characters. Any original characters you **don't** recognize and the basic plot is mine though. I make no money from writing this story, but do it purely for my own entertainment. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Over the next couple of days, the Cartwright family worked at reestablishing some semblance of normalcy on the Ponderosa. Adam started working around the ranch although he was under strict orders from his father not to overdo things. The longtime hands who'd been employed before he left, quickly sensed that he didn't welcome questions about the war. They treated him much the same as they always had, for which Adam was grateful. Some of the new cowhands who'd been hired on in his absence, found him a bit intimidating at times, but they all knew of the part he'd played in the war as a Union officer and they regarded him with great respect.

Joe and Hoss were happy to be working alongside their older brother again and while they both individually kept a watchful eye on him, they also began restoring their accustomed brotherly banter because they knew that it was what he needed most from them.

Adam's moods varied as he struggled to adapt to life on the Ponderosa again. The nights were still the worst. That was when he felt most vulnerable and when he couldn't escape the flashbacks of the bloodied battlefields scattered with bodies and wrapped in canon smoke. He would lie in bed and as he closed his eyes, he'd see the faces of the men he'd killed—some of them only a little older than Joe. And then there were the faces of the men who had been lost under his command. His men.

He stayed awake for as long as he could but eventually, when his tired body succumbed to a restless slumber, he would almost always wake up in a panicked cold sweat, thinking he was back at one of those grisly scenes. The only thing he could do then was to keep himself awake by spending hours in his room reading poetry and writing letters to his friends in the army.

A steady stream of letters arrived for him in return, sent from military colleagues stationed in different parts of the country. He read the messages with eager concentration, but afterwards he often turned glum, overcome by the sensation of complete detachment from the life he'd gotten so used to. The last thing he'd expected to feel upon his return to the Ponderosa, was _lost_. After years of wearing a uniform and being at war, it was oddly hard, wearing his western wear and herding cattle under the blue Nevada sky.

He thought about his men often. For so long they had been his responsibility, they'd followed his orders without hesitation—trusted him with their lives. He'd fought and bled alongside them. He'd also laughed with them and shared in their camaraderie to the degree he could while still being their captain. And now all that was gone. It had been with relief but also heartache that he'd handed over the command of his company to his good friend Captain Wills.

The other Cartwrights looked on in concern when Adam got absorbed in brooding thoughts. Ben remembered the dark places his oldest son had sometimes gotten caught up in even before he went to war. It pained the father to see his boy suffering so, but he knew that if Adam was ever going to talk about it, he couldn't risk pushing him if it was still too soon.

To Ben's joy, Hoss told him about the story Adam had shared that day at Silver Creek and Ben recognized that his eldest was trying. In fact, most days Adam would offer up small bits of information like anecdotes of life in the army camp and he even mentioned songs the soldiers had sung at night.

One evening in particular would never be forgotten by Ben and his younger sons, when Adam had described his participation in the Grand Review on May 23 and May 24. They had watched his countenance become animated as he told them about the two-day celebration which had taken place in the nation's capital. His eyes shone with open pride for his men, the company he'd led down the streets of Washington D.C. from Capitol Hill down Pennsylvania Avenue, as they'd marched beside their fellow soldiers, all part of the Army of the Potomac. The vivid descriptions of the thousands of spectators, the huge armies and the spectacular military parade—left Joe and Hoss gob smacked—and it was hard for their father to grasp that his son had been part of such a historic event.

It was then Ben knew that Adam didn't regret his decision to go to war. Only the moment ended far too soon when that dimpled smile suddenly faltered, and the hazel orbs sobered as some secret, painful memory returned to accost him.

That was what truly worried Ben. The horrors that were still left unspoken, festering, slowly wearing his boy down.

Like Hoss and Joe, Ben also tried to draw Adam out of his depressed moods but the change in him was taking its toll on everyone and the more he closed himself off, the worse it got.

On the night eleven days after he'd come home, Adam was sitting in his blue chair, staring into fireplace. There was no flickering fire hypnotizing his vision—the hearth was cold and flameless—but he continued staring, seeing things that had taken place in the past, thousands of miles away.

Ben didn't even have his book in his hands anymore, he was just observing Adam as if he would be able to visualize the young man's disturbing thoughts if only he concentrated hard enough. After a while, Adam's hand moved to lay gently against his right side. It was a subconscious movement that had become a familiar sight to his family over the last few days.

"Adam?"

Ben had learned that it took an average of three calls of Adam's name to break down the invisible wall his mind seemed to put up whenever he got like this. This time it took a fourth before he blinked and turned towards Ben.

"Are you all right, son?"

"Yea, I uh"—Adam glanced over at the empty settee—"did Hoss and Joe go to bed?"

"Yes, they went up twenty minutes or so ago. They wanted to be well rested for the county fair tomorrow."

"Oh."

Ben waited for some further response but when none came, he leaned forward in his seat.

"Can you tell me about it?"

"I don't think so Pa . . ."

The ghost of hesitation in Adam's voice sparked a hope in Ben and he considered his words carefully.

"How about this then. I ask you a few things and you can answer as you please or choose not to and I will return to my book?"

Adam was quiet but eventually gave a little nod. Ben took a moment, trying to work out the best way of approaching the conversation. When he spoke, his voice was soft but strong.

"You were thinking about something just now. Was it a particular event?"

"Yes."

Ben looked him over. "It's been bothering you all day, hasn't it? I saw that your light was on in the middle of the night."

"Yes, I . . . I didn't get much sleep last night. It was a little hard to settle . . . with, well . . . because of memories."

Adam stared down at his hands and Ben watched him, feeling a tugging at his heartstrings. He grasped the arms of his chair, holding on tightly to keep himself from getting up and going to his boy. It wasn't the right time, not with Adam. Eventually, Ben risked asking the one worded question that had been on his own mind for the last week.

"Gettysburg?"

Adam's posture stiffened.

"Yes, Gettysburg."

The quiet conformation made a little shiver shoot down Ben's spine.

"Were you wounded there, Adam?"

". . .During the four years there were a couple of close calls but this . . ." Adam closed his eyes. "This was . . ."

"The worst?"

"Yes. This was the worst."

Throughout his life, Ben Cartwright had experienced a few moments of unadulterated, earthshattering fear. The kind of fear that seemed to make a person's heart stop beating completely. Hearing about the great battle of Gettysburg—that had been one of those moments.

News of the battle had quickly spread through Virginia City and reports on the sheer number of casualties, wounded and dead, had left the whole town in shock. Ben had known that Adam was in that area because he'd gotten a letter from him only weeks earlier. It was the most frightened Ben had ever been for his son and in his heart, he'd felt that something terrible had happened. It had seemed like he could sense Adam's pain even from across the country.

After one and a half months of living with the hell of not knowing, Ben had finally received a letter from Adam in which he'd stated where he was being sent next. But the short message had held no mention of him being wounded. So, Ben had thought that his own worry had gotten the better of him and that he must have been mistaken; perhaps because he desperately wanted it to be so. But now his fears had been confirmed. Adam _had_ been wounded, and it must have been bad.

"Pa," Adam suddenly said, bringing Ben back to the present. "I just don't think I can. Not right now . . ."

"It's all right, Adam. It was a start."

Ben regarded him with warmth and affection, doing his best to conceal his inner sorrow.

"You look tired. Maybe you should try and get some sleep? I hope you'll at least consider coming with us to the county fair tomorrow . . ."

He wasn't sure which one of his two suggestions elicited the grimace that briefly crossed Adam's visage. Probably both, he guessed. With an air of resignation, Adam rose from the chair.

"Okay, I'll think about it. Goodnight, Pa."

"Goodnight."

Adam disappeared up the stairs and an unbearable quiet settled in the room around Ben. Suddenly, his eyes shot heavenward as he sucked in a breath, feeling an impossible ache in his chest. It had been a long time since he'd prayed as he did then. He prayed for guidance to help his son, to somehow relieve the pain that Adam carried around.

Ben had no way of knowing that in a strange twist of fate, his prayers were about to be answered, and that the next day would change Adam's life forever.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **July 15, 1865**

It was the opening day of the Virginia City Annual County Fair, and the four Cartwrights were on their way to town.

Joe was visibly excited; he was talking nonstop about the day's events and the friends he was going to meet up with as he rode Cochise next to the buggy. Hoss was driving the buggy, mentally preparing himself for the pie eating contest later on. He'd had a light breakfast—only two helpings of eggs—and he'd even skipped the bacon. He was set on winning the contest this year.

Ben sat next to Hoss on the buggy's seat and listened good-naturedly while Joe chattered on. He was used to his son's youthful exuberance and knew that it would be good for both Joe and Hoss to have a little fun in town. Ben shared their need to celebrate the fact that their family was once again reunited.

Initially, they'd planned to blow of some steam on July 4, but since Adam had returned home unexpectedly on July 3, they'd naturally wanted to stay at home with him. They'd foregone the usual festivities and practically stuck to the ranch for the last eleven days. It was time for them to get out and show their faces around town again and Ben was pleased that Adam had agreed to come along. However, as he continued glancing over at his oldest son riding quietly on the other side of the wagon, Ben started to doubt whether Adam was up for it yet.

Adam pulled his black Stetson lower across his brow, shading his eyes from the burning sun. He'd woken up with a dull headache just before dawn and he was beginning to really regret that he'd let himself get talked into coming today. He had deliberately avoided going into Virginia City since his return and now the closer they got—the more uneasy he became.

He did want to see his friends again after such a long time. A few of his closest and oldest friends had already been out to the Ponderosa to visit him, which had delighted him more than he'd thought it would. What he dreaded was the stream of questions he knew was coming. The gossiping ladies and the curious cowboys. With him being the oldest son of Ben Cartwright and having an officer's rank that everyone knew about, he knew that he wouldn't get away with just enjoying a day in town.

He closed his eyes, then blinked rapidly a couple of times. Today more than usual, the lack of sleep was getting to him.

". . . don't you think, Adam?"

"Huh?"

Adam turned to face his youngest brother who was looking a little dispirited.

"Sorry Joe, I was far away there for a minute. What did you say?"

"Oh, I was just saying it's gonna be nice going into town all four of us again. I was sorta wanting you to meet some new friends of mine. Well, they're not so new anymore but they've been really great to have around for the last couple of years. They know we've been waitin' for you to come home for a long time."

Seeing Adam tense up, Joe quickly added, "But I can tell them not to ask you about the war."

Adam relaxed and smiled at Joe, touched by his concern. "No, it's fine. I guess I need to face people again sooner or later. Of course I'd like to meet your friends, little buddy."

Joe's face lit up in childlike happiness at hearing the term of endearment that only Adam ever used for him. He urged Cochise to go faster next to the buggy and Adam exhaled deeply, dutifully following his family.

* * *

Virginia City was bustling with activity and the streets were filled with buggies, horses and people. After years of war and weeks of grieving the tragic loss of President Lincoln, it was if the town was—much like the entire country—truly coming out of mourning. There was an atmosphere of optimism and hope for the future, which seemed to match the glorious weather of a perfect, cloudless summer's day.

The Cartwright family rode down the wide C street, past buildings with one and two stories and with a continuous, covered boardwalk on either side of the road. It wasn't long before folks started calling out greetings to Ben, Hoss and Joe. Adam, attempting to keep in the background, stayed behind the wagon as it crawled along the overfilled street. There was no mistaking the moment when people recognized him. Shouts of "Adam!" rang out all around him and he smiled slightly, trying to identify all the voices yelling at him. Some folks just stared while others, mostly the women and elderly ladies, turned to each other and whispered.

Adam was astounded by the number of people who pushed their way through the crowd and reached up to shake his hand, welcoming him home. A lot of them were cowboys and business acquaintances from the lumber and mining industries, and there were also a few neighbors, some of whom looked completely different after four years.

Sam from the Bucket of Blood stood on the boardwalk outside the saloon to watch the proceedings and when the Cartwrights sailed by, he waved at Adam and yelled out, "Welcome back Adam! You got a couple of free beers waitin' for you when you get the chance!"

In response, Adam pinched the brim of his hat with his thumb and index finger and gave the bartender a grateful look before following his family as they neared the area where the fair was.

The street widened and the center of all the commotion came into view; an open space where stalls and tables stood with queues lined up in front of them. Buntings in blue, red and white hung from the nearby rooftops and on the boardwalk railings, and updated American flags were draped from the balconies—now displaying thirty-six white stars—a visible evidence of Nevada's entry into statehood.

Everywhere there were posters with bold letters, advertising food, drink and the day's events. The different stalls were mostly being managed by members of The Women's Social Club and a wide variety of goods were on sale. Plenty were selling clothes, jewelry, and braided bridles, but some also offered items such as paintings, books, pottery and homemade jams and beverages. The money made from the sales would go to a number of good causes and establishments including the local orphanage, the school and the poor folk of Virginia City. Competitions would be held over the course of the five days the fair lasted and there were events suited for men, women and children. Some of the contests included wrestling, ax throwing, marksmanship, dress making and the pie baking test, which would be followed by the pie eating challenge.

The Cartwright family moved past all the hustle, towards the southern end of town where there was a place reserved for horses and buggies. There were a few water troughs around and a shelter of canvas had been put up to provide horses with shade along the surrounding trees. Just past the last buildings at the edge of town, were a few more stalls and a clear view of the slope of Mount Davidson.

Ben pulled up the buggy by one of the nearby trees and Adam and Joe tied Sport and Cochise next to each other.

"Hot diggity, the town sure is jam-packed today. All them food smells made me powerful hungry!"

Hoss climbed down from the wagon when his younger brother's finger appeared, tapping at his massive chest.

"You just make sure you don't go following any of those food smells," Joe said, revealing a row of perfect white teeth, "you wanna win that pie eating contest this year, don't you?"

"Aw shucks Joe . . ."

Ben laughed at the crestfallen look on Hoss' face, but Adam didn't take any of it in. His attention was fixed on a group of people heading towards him and his family.

One of them was Tom Madigan from the International House, an old friend of the Cartwrights, and he reached out a hand as soon as he got to Adam.

"Adam! I was hoping you'd be here today. It's so good to see you again, welcome home."

"Thanks Tom, it's good to be back," Adam said and shook Tom's hand with sincere warmth.

The rest of the group then made their presence known and a stream of excited chatter rushed the family, most of it aimed directly at Adam.

" _How have you been?"_

"— _almost didn't recognize you_ — _"_

" _It must be wonderful to have him home again_ — _"_

"— _feared you'd never return!"_

" _You must be so proud of him, a Union captain . . ."_

Adam wasn't the blushing type, it simply wasn't in his nature, so in response to the shower of praise that suddenly rained down on him, he offered only shoulder shrugs and a continuous repeat of the phrases _"I only did my duty_ " and _"others made much greater sacrifices"._

Thankfully, he was mostly offered warm welcomes but after a few minutes, being the center of attention was starting to get to him.

Ben studied his son with a father's pride but also with a father's perceptiveness, and he recognized that Adam was getting overwhelmed. He excused himself from his own conversation with his friends and stepped up beside Adam to address the eager group.

"If you'll all excuse us," Ben said, tapping Adam's arm, "I'd like to have a moment with this one before he and the boys go off and are lost to me for the rest of the day."

Everyone easily accepted that and people turned to Hoss and Joe instead, engaging in the usual small talk.

Adam walked beside his father back to the wagon and his shoulders lifted and fell with a deep breath once they were alone. He knew exactly what his Pa had done and didn't bother pretending that there was anything they needed to talk about.

"Thanks Pa," he simply said.

"You're welcome. I hope you didn't assume that you would be left to fend for yourself completely. But I hope you can see that folks are genuinely happy to see you. They just want to express that in the ways they can."

"Yea, I see what you mean. And it _is_ nice seeing everyone again. I just . . . "Adam's gaze dropped, and he began toeing the ground with the tip of his boot. "Well, you know what it's like, Pa."

Ben's eyes crinkled at the corners. He knew perfectly well that his oldest boy didn't take well to receiving praise, however well deserved it might be. Adam barely accepted it from his own family, let alone from friends and almost-strangers.

"I know, Adam. But it might take a while before people start treating you like before. After all, you were gone for a long time. As for the questions some might ask, well, you have no obligation to answer the things you don't want to."

Adam didn't say anything, he just pushed out his lower lip as his dark eyebrows drew together. The sight reminded Ben of a five-year-old Adam because that was the look he'd started wearing back then, whenever he would try to work through some deep problem. And there had been many problems to consider, troubles that no five-year-old should ever have to face. It was around the same time that Adam had started to put up those strong emotional defenses and Ben felt a familiar ache claw at his heart at the thought. He quickly put it aside again before it got too much and he spoke to his son in a cheerful tone.

"Now, let's go out and take part in the festivities. I really think this day will be good for all of us and that includes you. Just give it a proper chance."

Adam's expression gradually loosened up with a little upturned twist of his mouth. "Sure, Pa."

Father and son went back to join the two youngest Cartwrights and then the four of them headed to the fair.

xXXx

"Now where in tarnation did he disappear off to? I dun told him we were gonna go and get a beer over at Sam's and the minute I turn my back he's off gallivanting' around again!"

Hoss pushed through the mass of people, his jaw jutting out as he searched the area.

"Oh, let him be, Hoss," Adam said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "He's probably found something to do with his new friends. We might as well head over to the Bucket of Blood ourselves."

Taking advantage of his sibling's bulk, Adam followed behind Hoss in the path he'd created. Adam had enjoyed being with his brothers and meeting Joe's new friends, but it wasn't the easiest bunch to keep up with. A sit-down somewhere in the shade was really all he wanted now. It made him feel a little old.

"Dadburnit Adam, it's been his turn to pay for drinks the last three times me and him come to town. I'll bet ya that little scamp is cooling down in the shade somewhere thinkin' he's real smart."

"Actually"—Adam pulled at the brown vest Hoss always wore—"I think I just found him."

Hoss turned around and saw where Adam was looking. About fifty feet to their right, a group of men were huddled together around something, their fists pumping the air while they yelled and laughed in excitement.

When someone shouted, "Come on Little Joe!", Hoss and Adam exchanged a brief eyeroll before Hoss plowed forward in the new direction. They reached the wall of men and a gap was quickly formed to let them in.

Joe was sitting pinch-faced at a table, the sleeve of his tan shirt rolled up and his bicep fully flexed as he arm-wrestled a young man around his age. Adam and Hoss instantly relaxed, seeing that for once, Joe's disappearing act was of quite a harmless nature. Then when they realized that the majority of the spectators were rooting for their little brother's opponent, they quickly added their own voices to those of Joe's supporters. Joe's concentration broke and his head shot to them, an action that nearly cost him the match when his adversary tried to throw him off balance. The shouting onlookers grew louder as the young man seemed to quite literally gain the upper hand and Joe's expression tightened in a grimace.

Adam watched with a secret smile as Joe's hand fell lower and lower, knowing what was about to happen. He'd taught the kid this trick himself. Joe's opponent made a grunting grin, barely two inches away from winning when Joe—with a sudden burst of strength—pushed with all his might and flung the other man's hand back, effectively pinning it to the tabletop. Everyone cheered in surprise and acknowledgement of the move and Joe stood up to pat his wide-eyed adversary's back. He then stepped over to his siblings, his emerald eyes lighting up his handsome features.

"Well, I'm glad you fellas didn't miss the show. Someone's gotta uphold the Cartwright family pride in some of these competitions today, you know," he said as he rolled down his sleeve.

Hoss threw an arm around Joe's shoulders, his face splitting with a gap-toothed smile.

"Little brother, did ya already forget that I won that pie eatin' contest earlier?"

"Oh no, no _big brother_ , don't you worry. I don't think I'll ever forget how you kept eating that sixth pie even after the time was called!"

Hoss squeezed Joe's shoulder hard while the younger man squirmed in his grip and Adam watched their antics with silent amusement. He was about to say that the two of them should enter the wrestling contest when he felt a prickly feeling on the back of his neck and looked up.

His gaze immediately landed on a man standing on the boardwalk in front of the general store. The man was leaning against a wooden post under the shade of the tin roof—a full, yellow beard covering most of his face. What bothered Adam about the guy, was that he was staring directly at him. For a few moments, the noise of the crowd around them became a blurry background and Adam held the stranger's eyes challengingly. They stayed like that until the man's head slowly turned, just slightly, but it was enough to change his line of sight.

Adam sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. He knew he'd been observed a few times over the last couple of hours; he'd felt the first set of eyes on him within ten minutes of entering the fair. Every so often, he'd been able to identify the source of that prickly feeling like just now, but not all the time.

At first, he'd been on his guard, wary of potential threats and constantly scanning his surroundings. But he'd eventually drawn the conclusion that he was being watched by Confederate sympathizers.

There was a lot of healing to be done throughout the country after a civil war of this scale, Adam knew that better than anyone. There was still anger and bitterness on both sides of the conflict, especially in the South and it would take time to learn to live with one another again. Unpleasant as it was being scrutinized this way, Adam recognized that there was no immediate threat to him or his family.

Lost in thought again, he slid the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. The little movement made him aware of how dry his mouth was, and he instinctively tried to swallow, only he found that he couldn't. Being on high alert in the big crowd had taxed his strength. He forced his eyelids tightly together but the increased throbbing by his temples was becoming impossible to ignore. Suddenly, there were too many impressions and things going on everywhere. Colors, people and sounds seemed to be spinning around him, making him feel shaky, like in an earthquake. Facing his younger siblings who were still engaged in a playful scuffle, he waved a hand tiredly at them.

"All right you two, I think we could all use a drink over at—"

"Adam Cartwright!"

Adam cringed at the sound of the shrill voice behind him. Up until now, only a few people had drawn him into conversations that went beyond a handshake and the conventional "welcome home".

His luck had just run out.

He cautiously turned around and saw a party of finely-dressed citizens coming towards him, including members of the Cattlemen's Association and their wives. Mrs. Aida Stewart who was a representative for the Virginia City Women's Social Club and also the biggest gossip in town, got to him first.

"Mr. Cartwright, it was certainly about time that you came to Virginia City. Why, we heard that you have been home for over a week and you haven't been to see anyone! How very unneighborly."

Every syllable the elderly lady spoke was like a pin stabbing into his brain and he greeted the group with a tight expression. They exchanged pleasantries, but it soon became obvious what was on everyone's mind. The men delved into politics, many of them expressing their dissatisfaction with what they perceived was lack of punishment of the "Southern rebels _"_ and they were interested to hear Adam's opinion on the latest developments in President Johnson's Reconstruction policy.

Mrs. Stewart pushed herself into the conversation, asking him directly about certain battles and his involvement in them while one of the other ladies added that her cousin had also fought for the North. Adam was courteous for most of it and tried to answer their questions except for the ones he rudely and very deliberately ignored. But there were those whose curiosity and lack of tact made him increasingly uncomfortable.

A couple of feet away at a stand selling sandwiches, stood one of Adam's good friends, David Howell from the _Territorial Enterprise_ and he was watching the group intently. He'd known Adam for over ten years and he'd been out to visit him at the Ponderosa just a week ago. Being one of the few outsiders who could see through the mask Adam wore in public, David's face clouded with concern at the look of his friend. He did a quick survey to see if the two other Cartwright brothers were around, but when he spotted Joe and Hoss talking to some Ponderosa cowhands off in the crowd, he made a decision.

As he approached the party standing around Adam, he realized how they were picking at him like a pack of coyotes. David wondered how his friend hadn't yet lost his composure.

"Ah, there you are!" he said enthusiastically and placed a hand on Adam's shoulder. "I told you that I had some news to share, and you just keep disappearing on me. Have you got a minute?"

Adam didn't fully face him, but David felt the tense muscles under his hand relax immediately. Mrs. Stewart looked outraged at the abrupt interruption, but Bill from the Cattlemen's Association seemed to catch on and before Adam could form a reply, Bill turned to address the group.

"Well Ladies and Gentlemen, won't you all join me over at the International House for some coffee and tea?"

The muttering party began to move and Bill and David shared a look of understanding before the cattleman followed the others.

David leaned close to Adam's ear as he steered him away. "You all right there, pal?"

Adam made a little sound of conformation and the two men went to the boardwalk outside the bank where there were less people and a bit of shade.

At that moment, Hoss had looked up from the conversation with the cowhands to check on his oldest brother. When Adam wasn't where he'd last seen him, Hoss absentmindedly moved away, scanning the sea of heads around him.

He soon spotted Adam with David over by the bank and he rushed forward. The wooden floorboards creaked as he jumped up onto the boardwalk and he went straight over to Adam who was leaning against the wall of the bank, his head hanging down.

"You okay, Adam?" Hoss asked hesitantly and put a hand on his brother's back.

"He didn't look all that well Hoss," David said, "and from what I could see, Mrs. Stewart and her bunch weren't exactly helping."

A pang of guilt hit Hoss like a punch in the gut when he realized that Adam had been left alone to deal with the likes of Mrs. Aida Stewart.

Slowly, Adam looked up, but he didn't meet either of the two men's eyes.

"I'm all right now." His voice was low and his eyes slightly unfocused. "I just got a little dizzy out there . . . I think the sun has gotten to me a bit today."

There was no fooling Hoss. Now that he could see Adam's face, the paleness of his glistening skin was all too obvious, especially in the stark contrast of his dark hair and five o'clock shadow. But Hoss knew that his mule of a brother didn't take kindly to being fussed over at the best of times, never mind in broad daylight and in public, so he clamped down on his own unease and spoke in an airy tone.

"Well then, what do ya say me and you go and find ourselves a nice little spot to sit down, hmm?"

Adam's gaze trailed wearily across the mob of people standing between him and the Bucket of Blood.

"Not at the saloon," Hoss quickly said, "We'll go out to the horses, sit on the wagon in the shade."

Adam silently closed his eyes and that was agreement enough for Hoss.

"I've gotta get back to the stand, Hoss," David said, still scrutinizing Adam with a frowning face. "There's no one else to watch it . . ."

"Sure Dave, thanks for lookin' out for him. We'll be fine now."

With obvious reluctance, David gave a little pat on his old friend's arm before stepping back down into the busy street.

The two brothers walked back through the fair towards the edge of town, Adam insisting that he needed no assistance and that he was fine. Hoss let him have his way until a dizzy spell caught him and Adam nearly toppled over, face first into Amanda Windfield's cake stand. After that, Hoss kept a discreet but firm grip under his sibling's left arm.

"Okay Hoss, we're out of the chaos now, you can let me go," Adam grumbled when they got past the last buildings. "It was just a little dizziness." Although he was trying to convey his annoyance, he just sounded tired, even to his own ears.

"Well you ain't hardly had anything to drink and nothin' to eat since that measly breakfast of yours this mornin', so I ain't surprised." Hoss was completely calm, and he didn't loosen his hold.

The wagon had just come into their sights when they heard that familiar, booming voice call them. The one voice that Adam really didn't want to hear at that moment.

"Hey boys! Up here!"

Adam and Hoss looked to their right, a little way up the mountain slope where a few more stalls stood. Their father was sitting at a table under a tree, next to where a pavilion of canvass was set up.

And Ben was not alone. Doctor Paul Martin was sitting next to him, waving at the two Cartwrights to join them.

"Great," Adam muttered. "Just great."

Hoss grimaced in sympathy but only for a second. To him, it was a stroke of good luck that the doc was sitting just up there, even if Adam didn't see it that way.

As they made their way up the slope, Adam regretted that he hadn't been fast-thinking enough to pretend that he hadn't heard his father's shout. Not that it would have mattered, he thought. Hoss would never have gone along with it.

Ben and Paul were just sharing a joke about something when the two brothers reached their table. The doctor was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes and Ben was holding his stomach as his hilarity decreased to a chuckle. They looked up at the exact same time, and if Adam hadn't been out of breath and lightheaded from the walk uphill, he would have laughed at the comical sight of their happy faces dropping simultaneously.

"Adam, what happened son?!"

Ben immediately got up from the table's bench and took Adam's free arm, his dark eyes swimming with worry.

Adam let out a sigh. "Pa, I'm fi—"

"Let's have him sit down Ben." Paul also stood and added his own hands to the mix. "Just here in the shade."

The three men dropped Adam down onto the bench and he didn't complain. He just wasn't up to it.

He heard them talking next to him and surmised that his father must be questioning Hoss. But it felt so good, being in the shade, it didn't seem worth the effort to listen in on them. He took of his hat and wiped his face with a damp sleeve when he realized that he was being asked a question.

He looked up with squinting eyes.

"Sorry Paul, I didn't hear you."

Paul's frown deepened. "Have you been drinking water today?"

"I guess not enough." Adam lowered his head into his hands, pressing his palms against his eye sockets to ease the relentless pressure.

"Headache?" Paul asked.

Adam nodded without looking up.

"Nausea?"

There was a slight grimace, then another nod. Adam felt his father's hand come to rest on his back. Voices melded together again, and Paul called for something, but Adam couldn't make sense of the words, it was too hard to concentrate.

A minute or so had passed when a different voice suddenly penetrated his hazy mind.

"Will he be all right?"

Something made him lift his head and he turned to his right, looked straight past his father and brother and at the blurry outline of a person standing just a few feet away. As his vision cleared, his eyes finally settled on the most beautiful woman he'd seen in his life.

He thought that she must be real because Paul was standing next to her and she was holding a bowl which he was dipping a cloth into. Adam vaguely heard his father say something, but he couldn't take in anything else than her.

She looked like an angel. Her face was oval-shaped and perfect; her complexion pale and fine with a tinge of rosy-pink spreading along her cheekbones. Long, earthy brown hair tumbled down her shoulders like a vivacious river, allowing glimpses of ivory skin beneath. She wore a cream-colored dress which fitted her petite but shapely body tightly, and there were pink ruffles at the bottom of the full skirt and a matching bow tied at the front of her bust. When she turned a pair of striking, forest-green eyes on him, and walked in his direction, Adam's breath caught in his dry throat.

Somewhere in his confused mind, his manners all of a sudden sprang forward, and he was overcome with the need to introduce himself to her in a proper fashion.

He abruptly pushed himself to his feet, unknowingly almost headbutting his father who'd been leaning over him. For a split second, he stood there swaying like a grass stalk in the wind until Hoss grabbed his arm and Paul's appalled voice rang out.

"Adam! for Heaven's sake, sit down!"

He all but fell down onto the bench again. A cool, wet cloth was pressed against his forehead and his eyes closed at the instant relief.

"Now, I want you to drink all of this," Paul said. "But slowly and a little at the time."

Opening his eyes, Adam saw that a large glass of water had been placed in front of him. He took a deep swig of it and savored the feeling of the soothing water trickling down his parched throat. Already he began to feel more alert and he took the cloth from the hand holding it against his head.

Cautiously, he glanced up. She was still there. She was just on the other side of the table, watching him with such genuine concern and compassion that it seemed to pour out of her.

Paul cleared his throat loudly.

"Well Madeline, this is the one I told you about. One of my most terrible patients, only to be outdone by his father. Adam Cartwright, Ben's oldest son." Paul looked at Adam. "Adam, this is Miss Madeline Delaney, my niece."

Adam's gaze never left her, and as he lowered the cloth from his temple, he finally got his mouth to work.

"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Delaney."

He added a little half smile and was pleased to see her lips curve also as the little creases on her brow lessened marginally.

"I am pleased to meet you too, Mr. Cartwright."

She paused uncertainly, then looked away from him and addressed his father and brother.

"Uncle Paul speaks so well of the Cartwright family. I am happy to finally meet all of you."

Adam latched onto every word. The soft sound of her voice seemed to ease the painful pounding in his head.

"Perhaps you gentleman would like some lemonade?" she asked with a smile.

"That would be lovely, my dear," Paul said, and took the bowl she was still holding. Madeline nodded and after glancing briefly at Adam again, she turned to walk back to the pavilion.

Adam's eyes followed her until the moment she disappeared from his sight, then he drank down the rest of the water.

"Son, I think you should lie down in the shade by the tree. Just to rest up for a while, nobody will see out here."

Adam looked up at his father with a wary expression. He really didn't like the idea, he wanted to stay and wait for Madeline to come back, to find out more about her. _Paul never mentioned he had a niece._ But at the entreating looks on his father's and brother's faces, he acquiesced.

Hoss made it comfortable for him and laid a blanket down in the grass around the other side of the tree before helping him lie down. Flickers of golden light peeked through the roof of leaves above him and Adam felt a bit like he was floating as he gazed up at it. Even though he only meant to rest his aching head a little, he was asleep within a minute.

xXXx

When Adam woke up, it was late afternoon and it took him a while to remember where he was. He lay on his back, trying to figure out just how long he'd been out of it when he sensed a presence beside him. Turning his head, he saw his youngest brother sitting against the tree, a pocketknife and a piece of wood in his hands.

"Joe?"

Joe's eyes darted to him and he quickly put down the items.

"Hey there, older brother." Joe scooched closer. "You know, it took me almost an hour to figure out where you and Hoss had disappeared to, and then I find you here, sleepin' the day away." His voice had a teasing tone to it though it sounded a little forced and then his expression turned solemn. "Adam, we're real sorry. We just didn't see that it was Mrs. Stewart and those folks talking to you."

Adam's mind was still slow with sleep as he tried to take in everything Joe was saying. He moved to sit up and the younger man quickly helped him. His headache had subsided to that tolerable, dull pain again and he put on a small smile for his brother.

"Don't worry about it Joe, it was just a mixture of things. I hadn't been drinking enough and it all got to me a bit. I'm fine now."

Joe gave him a skeptical look but didn't dispute Adam's words and the two brothers sat quietly for a while as Adam gathered himself. He casually began picking at the grass sticking up around the edge of the blanket. "Say Joe, did you ever hear Doc Martin mention anything about having a niece?"

A sudden, sly grin broke out across Joe's face and he leaned backwards with his hands on the ground.

"No, well, not until the war, that is. You met Miss Delaney, huh? She sure is something isn't she Adam? Hoss turns red whenever she—"

"The war? What do you mean _until the war?_ "

"Well . . ." Joe drew out the word. "It wasn't long after you left, the doc told Pa that he was trying to find his niece who lived somewhere in the South. He said that he hadn't had any contact with her for many years. There was something about the doc and his brother, Miss Delaney's father . . . they didn't get along so well with each other, so they'd lost touch." Adam leaned forward, listening intently as Joe continued. "Well, anyway, doc got news that his brother had died, and he wanted to know what had happened to his niece.

"He was worried about her with the war and all, and Pa helped hire some detectives who managed to track her down. She's been here a few months now, livin' with the doc and working as a nurse. I've met her a few times."

When Joe finished, Adam sat back and resumed plucking the grass. "So, she . . . came here _alone_ to live with Paul?"

"Yep. It's _Miss_ Delaney," Joe said.

A pondering look settled on Adam's face. He was unaware that Joe was watching him until the younger man spoke in a patient voice. "You know, we did mention her to you the other day, but I guess you were a little lost in thoughts at the time."

Adam looked over at his little brother and when he saw the deep understanding in that soulful gaze, he was reminded again of just how much Joe had grown up.

"Yea, I guess I have been a little distant." He reached for his hat lying next to him on the blanket. "Now, I think I better go and tell that overprotective father of ours to stop worrying."

Ben and Hoss were sitting at the table, talking quietly together when Adam and Joe appeared from behind the tree, the former walking slightly unsteadily. Adam quickly assured them that he was feeling much better. He sat down on the bench, glancing discreetly around, but there was no sign of _her_. He noticed Paul was standing under the pavilion which was apparently a lemonade stand, tending to some customers.

Ben observed Adam carefully, trying to gauge how ready he was for the trip home. Seeing his oldest son so ill—practically dangling in Hoss' grip, on the verge of collapse—had scared Ben and now he just wanted Adam back on the Ponderosa. When he cautiously suggested that they head on home, Adam's face fell, and he agreed reluctantly. Ben misinterpreted the expression, thinking that his boy was feeling worse than he was letting on and that he dreaded the ride home.

The real reason behind Adam's disappointment was that he wouldn't get to see Madeline Delaney again that day. He felt that he'd made a terrible first impression; sweaty, dusty and unshaven and probably looking just as bad as he'd felt. There were so many questions going through his head. He needed to know more about her.

To his annoyance, Adam was instructed to wait in the shade in that no-nonsense tone of his father's while the others got the horses and buggy ready. As he sat there alone, Paul came over with another glass of water for him. The doctor then took advantage of Adam's newly restored alertness and began questioning him thoroughly about his health. The dark Cartwright's reluctant answers concerning how much food and sleep he was getting, were insufficient at best, and the questioning turned into one of those infamous Doctor-Paul-Martin-lectures, topped op with a pointed finger waving in the air.

In the end Adam became defensive and interrupted Paul's rant by angrily stating that it wasn't by choice that he woke at night. Surprise gave way to understanding as the hard lines of Paul's features softened. But Adam turned away from the sympathy he saw in the doctor's eyes, and he began walking down the hillside towards his family.

Paul went straight to the pavilion where he kept his black doctor's bag in a cool corner. He'd decided to bring it along for the day, knowing that at a big fair like this, a doctor's assistance was often needed for some reason or other. At that instance, he was glad that he had and after grabbing an item from the bag, he went back out to follow the second-worst of all his patients. Paul smiled a little when he saw that Hoss had walked up the hill to meet Adam and that his supporting hand had not been shrugged away.

When the brothers had made it to the horses, Hoss went over to the buggy while Adam began untying Sport's reins. He was already regretting his angry outburst at Paul, when he sensed someone come up next to him.

"Adam, take this," Paul said and discreetly slipped a small, dark brown bottle into Adam's hand. "Now, before you say anything, I know you've always been reluctant to take laudanum, but your body needs proper rest and this will help. Just add four or five drops to water or a glass of brandy before you go to bed."

The doctor lowered his voice, but his tone held the same dry formality that he typically addressed his friends and patients in. "Just give it a try. I doubt that it will make things worse than they are now."

Hard as it was to look up, Adam did, and he saw that Paul's habitual blank expression was in place. There were a couple of wrinkles between the doctor's eyebrows, but they were wrinkles of age rather than worry. Despite his unemotional countenance, there was the barest hint of a frown hiding there. Just a faint, down-turned twist to his mouth. It was the kind of frown that could be either from disapproval or sadness and although Adam had known this man and that frown for seventeen years, he still couldn't always identify what it meant. What made Adam drop his gaze, was when he briefly met Paul's eyes. Those eyes were knowing like a father's, which was highly impressive since Paul Martin had no children of his own.

Tightening his hold around the little bottle, Adam turned around to put the laudanum in his saddlebags.

"Well Paul," Ben said as he came over from the buggy, "you'll give our best to that lovely niece of yours?"

"I will Ben. She should be back soon with the items to make a new lemonade batch. You all take care now!"

With a pointed look at Adam, Paul turned around and headed up the hillside again.

Adam was about to attempt mounting Sport when he noticed his family were standing around. One dark eyebrow came up as he studied them.

". . . You fellas ready, or?"

Joe and Hoss seemed to have acquired a fascination with the dirt on the ground and their father shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, son . . . ah . . ."

There was a horrible moment when Adam saw his father glance at the wagon and he realized what they were thinking. All the supplies and items that had been bought during the day were stacked neatly at one end of the buggy, leaving plenty of free room.

"No. Absolutely not."

The words were calm and controlled and the look Adam bestowed on them would have made anyone other than his family shy away like a spooked herd of cattle. Just the thought of riding in the back of the wagon with his horse tied to it—for the whole town to see—was almost enough to make him physically shudder.

With that, he mounted up and sat as straight in the saddle as he could while he waited for them to get ready. Hoss and Joe shrugged their shoulders while Ben shook his head and cursed his stubborn firstborn. A minute later, the family set off and rode home to the Ponderosa.

* * *

Later that evening at doctor Martin's house, Paul walked down the hall to the sitting room, carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups. He paused in the doorway and smiled as he observed Madeline. She was sitting in the burgundy red wing-back chair by the window, facing out across the street. A long piece of lavender colored silk lay draped across her lap and a needle rested in her dainty hand, forgotten, as she looked out at the darkening sky. She was the picture of beauty—Paul was well aware of that—and he couldn't help but feel proud that this was his niece.

Since she had come to live with him, it what as if a void in his life had been filled. A void he hadn't even known existed. His house had become a home and his life had been given a purpose outside of work. She was his family.

She had been only ten years old when he'd fallen out with her parents. Paul and his brother Jacob had always had a strained relationship and when Jacob married a woman from Virginia and moved to the South, they hadn't seen too much of each other. Although Paul had utterly adored the little Madeline from the day she was born, the visits he'd made to his brother's family were always tainted by arguments between him and Jacob, often fueled by politics and their opposite opinions on so many matters. Jacob was a wealthy and well-liked man in his community and Paul, being from the remote and "uncivilized" part of the country where savages roamed free, had always felt that his older brother saw him as an embarrassment. In the end, there had been one terrible argument between the two where such hateful and hurtful things had been said that they'd agreed to cut the contact.

Paul had left the day after the argument, and he remembered crouching down in front of his little niece to give her a hug before they'd done their little farewell ritual. After every visit, Paul would always ask the same question and Madeline would give the same answer.

" _Now, my little Belle . . . you won't forget your Uncle Paul until next time I see you, will you?"_

" _No Uncle Paul, there's a place in the heart 'specially made for uncles so they never get forgotten!"_

Those light green eyes, so innocent and honest, had seen straight through him, and he'd known that she knew. She'd just hugged him tight once more and then he'd driven off in a carriage, the tears stinging in his eyes as he'd left the little girl behind.

That was eighteen years ago and looking at her now as she sat gazing out of the window, all grown up, he could hardly believe that she was really here with him. Her eyes were a deeper and darker green now, and a shadow passed across his face as he thought of all the hurt that little girl from so long ago had been forced to go through in her life.

With a sigh he broke free of his reverie and walked into the room, placing the tray on the table in front of her.

"Here we are, some nice hot tea with milk and a little sugar, just as you like it."

Madeline turned to him, slightly startled.

"Oh, Uncle Paul, I am sorry," she said, reaching for the brass needle case lying on the table. "I was going to bring you some tea in your office, but I just lost track of time."

"It's all right Madeline, I was finished with work for today anyway. I thought I'd come and keep you company."

Paul sat down on the elegant burgundy settee opposite her as she stood and folded the silk material, careful not to wrinkle it.

"Is that the new dress you're working on? It's coming along nicely indeed."

"Thank you." She gave him one of those soft smiles that could melt the coldest of hearts. "It is such beautiful material, I only hope my limited skills as a seamstress can do it justice."

"Judging by the other dresses you've made so far, I'd say you'll do just fine."

Madeline placed the fabric and thread on a small upholstered bench and took her seat again. Paul sat back against the embroidered cushions in all different shades of dark red while she took her cup and held it in her lap, her face turned towards the window again. A few minutes went by, then Paul leaned forward and took his own cup from the table.

"There was a time when I would offer my little Belle a penny for those deep thoughts, but I assumed you'd grown out of that game."

Her full lips curled into a smile. "You haven't called me that in such a long time. I didn't think you'd remember . . ."

"You may think your uncle is getting old, my dear, but I'll have you know that my memory gets sharper with every year that passes."

Paul grinned slyly, and Madeline shook her head at his teasing.

"Oh, I was just thinking about today. . ." She began stirring the tea with a silver spoon. "About all the people I met, friends and acquaintances of yours."

"Yes, you were certainly kept busy throughout the day. Even though you've been here for two months there were still a few people who thought you were just a nurse I'd hired on."

"I can understand why they would think that. I haven't exactly been going out of my way to be social around town since I arrived."

Paul knew the reason for that, but he wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about it or whether that was even what was truly on her mind. He didn't reply, he just waited patiently for her to continue.

"I thought about the Cartwrights too," she said, her eyes fixed on the creamy brown liquid and the swirling pattern she was creating with the spoon. "They seem like a very nice family."

Lifting his teacup, Paul hid the smile growing across his mouth. "Yes. Yes, they certainly are."

She paused for a moment, continuing to stir the tea almost mechanically. "Of course, I've already met Mr. Cartwright quite a few times . . . and his two younger sons, Hoss and Joe. Who have all been so very nice to me and welcoming . . ."

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, I was wondering . . . well, Mr. Cartwright's oldest son—"

"Adam."

Madeline's hand stilled and she looked up at her uncle's interruption. There was amusement dancing in his eyes and a faint blush touched her cheeks.

"Yes, Adam," she said. Then her delicate, brown eyebrows pulled together, and she gazed intently at her uncle. "Is he . . . well?"

Paul looked down and set his cup back on the table.

"No, he was certainly _unwell_ today. Dehydration and heavy sun exposure will do that to anyone."

He raised his head and after one brief glance at his niece's eyes of pure sincerity, he knew that he could feed them nothing but the truth. He expelled a breath, and with that breath, his initial plan to sidestep the real issue. "That's not what you meant, is it?"

Brown, curly tendrils danced against her cheek as she shook her head, the questions evident on her face.

"Adam . . . has been having a rough time since he got back," Paul said. "At least that is my impression. He has always been very closed off when it comes to such matters. I told you that he fought on the side of the North . . ."

"Yes, you did. I also remember Mr. Cartwright saying how anxious he was for him to return home when the war ended."

"I am afraid that although the war has ended, there are thousands of soldiers across the country who are still engaged in their own private battles." Paul's expression turned gloomy for a second, then he looked over at Madeline again.

"He was a captain in the Union Army, you know."

Surprised flickered in Madeline's eyes. "No, I wasn't aware of that."

"From the things Ben has told me, I've gathered that Adam was in many of the biggest battles. When I went to see him a few days after he returned home, he looked exhausted. Tired and visibly thinner than when he left four years ago. All things you would expect, I suppose." Paul's voice became a mutter, and he spoke mostly to himself. "What concerns me, is that he practically looked the same today as he did when I saw him more than a week ago."

Silence fell as Paul stared out into the room.

After a while, Madeline's voice floated across the table like a soft breeze blowing through the dark clouds of her uncle's solemn mood. "It will take time for people on both sides of the war to recover from everything that has happened these last dreadful years. From what I have seen of the Cartwright family, I have faith that they will endure this hardship together."

"Yes," Paul said. "They have certainly had more than their share of hardships."

His statement brought an expression of quiet understanding to Madeline's face. He'd already told her about some of the tragedies the family had gone through. When he saw concern begin to build in her eyes, Paul collected the thoughts that had strayed to the Ponderosa and all his attention fell on her.

"We all have hardships, Madeline. I hope you know that I am here to help you with yours in any way I can. With anything you need."

Madeline carefully placed her tea on the table, drawing in a deep breath. When she spoke, the intense emotions displayed on her face were mirrored in her voice.

"Thank you, Uncle Paul. I am so very grateful for everything you have done for me. If you hadn't found me and offered me a place here with you, I don't know what would have happened."

Paul leaned across the table, folding his hands around hers.

"Having you here with me is the greatest gift I could have ever asked for, Madeline. You are my family and I am so proud of the lovely young woman you have become."

Feeling his own emotions getting the better of him, Paul patted her hand gruffly.

"You also make the best coffee in the state of Nevada and it is rather pleasant that I'm now able to find certain documents in my office with the filing system you arranged."

Just as he'd intended, Madeline let out a little laugh.

"Now," he said, smiling, "I suggest that you drink that tea and prepare yourself for a crushing checkers-defeat."

Paul got up and went to collect the checker board while Madeline sipped her tea, turning to the window again and this time, she wore a thoughtful smile.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Notes_

 _This chapter was a tough one to write, I struggled, but here it is. Hopefully it turned out okay._

 _By the way, I did some research on Civil War era firearms, particularly the Sharps rifle and its function, firing distance and so on. I hope it adds an element of authenticity to the chapter as you read it._

 _Oh well, here we go._

 **Chapter 4**

The morning after the county fair's opening day was quiet at the Ponderosa ranch. Ben loaded himself with coffee, preparing for the hours of paperwork he had ahead of him while Hoss and Joe ate their breakfast slowly. They were in no hurry to go rounding up strays in the north section.

Adam was still feeling the physical effects from the previous day. His obstinacy had ensured that he'd made the ride home on Sport, but he had been exhausted by the time they'd ridden into the yard. As a result, his dismount had been clumsy and only thanks to his father's quick reflexes did he avoid an unscheduled bath in the horse trough.

When he'd woken with the rising sun after another restless night, his whole body was aching and the flask of laudanum that Paul had given him stood on his dresser, unopened.

At breakfast Adam did attempt to eat more, which his family noticed with delight. Still, their appreciation for his efforts was short lived and replaced by annoyed exasperation when he got up from the table at the same time his brothers did, insisting on doing some chores in the barn while everyone else was working.

Hours later, Ben came out of the kitchen with more coffee to continue his paperwork when he noticed his firstborn lying on the settee, lost in a deep sleep. It was obvious by Adam's pale complexion that he had overdone things and worn himself completely out since he hadn't even made it up the stairs to his room. Ben's eyes went skyward, as if silently blaming that stubborn streak on the boy's mother, then he got a wool blanket from the dresser by the front door and very carefully draped it over his sleeping son.

Adam slept through the afternoon and only once did he have a nightmare.

Ben was working at his desk and while he was focused on the figures and accounts in front of him, a part of his brain was specially tuned to catch any movement or sound his son made. When a soft moan came from the settee, the father immediately got up and walked quietly to the sitting room area. He perched on the table and gently placed a hand on Adam's arm as the young man started muttering. It was a strange mixture of broken words, unfamiliar names and even orders. Adam's breathing quickened, his head moving back and forth while his legs kicked restlessly, almost desperately under the blanket.

Ben knew that a terrible scene was playing in Adam's mind, and it was almost too much for a father to witness his child in such distress.

And so, he did what he'd done with all his boys when they were younger although never as much with Adam. He began talking in that calming tone of voice that was reserved only for spooked animals, small children and ill or injured sons. It was soothing nonsense, nothing more, but it made Ben feel better while he kept rubbing a thumb across his son's bicep. It must have made Adam feel better too because after a while he seemed to settle and his lips stopped moving.

Ben sat there for a bit, just watching him sleep, wanting to make sure that no other nightmares were lurking and waiting to disturb him and the rest he was in such dire need of. When he was satisfied that Adam would be all right, he got up and returned to his mound of papers.

Hoss and Joe rode in about half an hour later and when Ben heard them, he went to open the front door, telling them to be quiet when they came in. The two brothers were slightly confused, but when they came into the house, they noticed the end of the blanket hanging over the back of the settee. They went closer to take a look and twin-smiles formed on their faces at the sight of their older brother looking so peaceful.

It ended up being a waft of Hop Sing's roast chicken that brought Adam out of his slumber. When he opened his eyes, Hoss and Joe were sitting by the fireplace, both pondering over their next move in their current checkers game.

Ben was in his red chair beside the settee and he saw that Adam was awake but didn't say anything. To the father's trained eyes, it was easy to discern the medley of emotions that played out across his eldest's face. First, there was confused surprise followed by a hint of chagrin, no doubt because Adam perceived his unplanned and prolonged nap as a sign of weakness. And then—this time to Ben's surprise—Adam just closed his eyes again, his chest rising high and then slowly sinking back down.

Ben glanced over at his two other sons who were caught up in their game, managing to convey frustration and silent threats all through eye contact and hand gestures.

A warm feeling spread through Ben's heart as he looked at the fine young men his boys had become. The feeling became a painful lump when his thoughts turned to all those families who'd lost a son, a brother, a husband. He could spend the rest of his life saying prayers of thanks, and he would still never be able to express the gratitude he felt for having his family whole again. Even if not all the family members were whole themselves. Right now, they were all here, living and breathing, and that was all that mattered to Ben Cartwright.

* * *

At noon the next day, the family were once again on their way to Virginia City. They were invited to a dinner party at the International House, arranged by the Cattlemen's Association, and with the Cartwrights owning the largest cattle ranch in the territory, it wasn't really an option for them to decline the invitation. Although they would all rather be outside at the fair instead of inside dressed in suits, discussing business and politics.

Joe looked dapper in his white shirt and tan pants, his matching tan jacket carefully folded in front of him across the saddle horn. He'd avoided getting a haircut for a while now and consequently his hair was longer than usual. But he'd found that the ladies in town appreciated it even if his father didn't.

He was anxious to spend more time with his friends and some of the pretty girls he'd met on the opening day of the fair. There was one girl in particular he wanted to see. A young lady by the name of Maisy McCoy who'd been selling embroidered handkerchiefs and bandanas. Her flaming red hair and blue eyes had drawn him in, but she had played hard to get.

Well, Joe Cartwright wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

As they rode along the trail to town, Joe heard a mumbled "Dadburned tie" from his left and saw that Hoss had let go of Chub's reins and was now fiddling with the black string around his neck.

The rest of the family knew how much Hoss hated formal wear and even though he was in the whitest shirt he owned, he'd still kept his brown leather vest on, claiming that people just wouldn't recognize him without it. While Hoss continued to pull at the piece of string, Joe turned his head right to look over at Adam who was also watching their brother's struggle.

The twitch at the corner of Adam's mouth was barely visible, yet it was enough to make Joe's control slip and suddenly that characteristic, high-pitched giggle filled the air _—_ followed by a new round of "Dadburnits!" from Hoss.

Ben, riding slightly ahead, turned in the saddle just in time to see Adam reach over to ruffle Joe's perfectly groomed hair as the younger man ducked away, still giggling. The father turned back to the road, privately chuckling to himself.

When they neared town, Adam became focused on seeking out one specific person. All morning, his thoughts had wandered to Virginia City just as they had most of the previous day. Straight to Miss Madeline Delaney.

It had been his own idea to leave the ranch a few hours earlier, so they could all spend some time at the fair before the dinner party. At least that had been his reasoning, and technically it was true; he did plan to spend those hours at the fair even if it wasn't exactly the fair itself he was interested in.

Once the initial surprise at his suggestion had settled, Hoss and Joe had been more than eager to back him up and Joe had shot off a series of good arguments at their Pa, straight from the hip. Ben had agreed eventually, but only after Adam had repeatedly reassured his father that he felt much better and that he would take it easy.

Ben did make it very clear though, that it was on the condition that ALL his sons would be there, four o'clock sharp at the International House for the dinner event.

As the Cartwright family entered town and rode down C Street dressed in their Sunday best, they got quite a bit of female attention, Joe especially. There were a lot of women in their early twenties, some bold enough to wave at him and he tipped his hat at them, flashing his trademark boyish grin while his thick, dark-brown eyebrows worked their magic. Hoss and Adam watched the show and indulged their younger sibling in his obvious enjoyment. However, for a brief moment, blue and hazel eyes met, silently agreeing that the teasing would be relentless when they all returned home later.

People were much calmer now when they saw Adam and although there were still a few "welcome back" greetings from folks, it was nowhere near the display that had taken place two days ago. Adam was relieved and more than happy to be in the perimeter of the attention-center that was his youngest brother.

They Cartwright men dismounted by the trees at the edge of town again and after making sure that the horses were well watered, they headed up the hillside where there seemed to be a lot of commotion. The crowd was much larger now in this area than it had been two days ago, and it soon became obvious why.

A little way up the hill—just opposite Doc Martin's lemonade stand—was a huge banner stretched in the air between two poles and it read, " _Virginia City Sharpshooting Competition_ ".

The entrance to the shooting event was blocked by a mass of people. Next to the banner stood a little booth with quick draw shooting where small, symbolic prizes could be won. The idea was for men to win a token for the women they were escorting and quite a few girls were walking around with red roses in their hands.

Joe eyed the booth and decided he'd found the perfect way to make a certain sweet redhead warm up to him. He'd already taken two steps towards the queue to the quick draw booth when his father's voice boomed above the surrounding noise.

"All right, you three. Remember, four o'clock at the International House. I will not be the only one representing the Cartwright clan."

"Sure Pa."

Ben wasn't at all satisfied with Joe's flippant response but turning to Adam for help was useless since he was staring off in the opposite direction, clearly not listening. Before Ben could speak again, Sheriff Roy Coffee came up to him, asking how he was and by then any attempt at recapturing the attention of his sons was pretty much hopeless, so Ben didn't bother.

xXXx

Adam was on the hunt for Doctor Martin's niece, and he could just glimpse the top of the pavilion tent up ahead. He was about to move past the people blocking his way when he felt a big hand on his arm.

"Ain't you comin' with us, Adam?"

"Uh, no," he said, not taking his eyes off his goal. "You and Joe go ahead. I . . . I'm gonna go over there . . ."

He swung his hand in the vague direction of the lemonade stand.

"Well, I can go with ya if'n you want."

"No. No thank you, Hoss."

His words were tinged with irritation, but Adam couldn't help it. This mollycoddling had to stop. When he glanced sideways and saw the apprehension on his brother's expressive face, he quickly patted the big man's back.

"It'll be fine, I'll take it easy, I promise. I'll even sit quietly in the shade and drink lemonade if that will make you happy."

Shuffling his feet, Hoss stuffed his hands firmly into his pockets.

"Aaww Adam, I'm just tryin' to look out for you. Just like you do for us."

"I know that." Adam reached up and straightened the crooked tie around Hoss' neck. "But I'll be all right. You go and keep an eye on our little Casanova over there. We need him at that dinner later in one piece. "

"Oh, all right," Hoss said grudgingly. "We might come and have some of that lemonade with ya in a little bit. That Miss Delaney makes some fine lemonade."

Hoss turned and walked over to Joe by the quick draw booth, and Adam went the opposite direction, making his way through the crowd.

When the lemonade-selling pavilion came into his view, he was disappointed to see two long queues lined up in front of it. He raised his jaw, his features set in determination as he stepped up at the back of one of the lines. Leaning to the side, he looked down the row of customers to make sure that it was the right queue. He caught a flash of pale pink and when Madeline's voice floated down to him, his heart did a strange fluttering thing that he was pretty sure wasn't normal.

An elderly woman got in the queue behind him and he quickly offered for her to go in front. She accepted, clearly appreciative of his gentlemanly behavior and that was fine with Adam. There was no reason for her or anyone else to know that his goal was in fact to be the last person in the queue.

The minutes went by and when he was third in line, he could see Madeline clearly, but she hadn't noticed him yet. She gave her immediate customer her full attention and he wasn't sorry about that at all since it gave him the opportunity to openly admire her stunning appearance.

Yesterday, he'd started to think that his fatigued state must have affected his perception of her during their first meeting, at least to some degree. The image he'd had in his head of a woman with the face of an angel; with flawless, porcelain skin and with eyes that seemed to slice straight into one's soul . . . well, that image was almost certainly an exaggeration of reality.

No one could possibly be that beautiful.

He'd prepared himself for that, and he'd still been desperate to meet her again. And now as he watched her while she served lemonade, he realized that there were no exaggerations where Madeline Delaney was concerned. She was as real to him now as she had been two days ago.

She was wearing a pale pink dress embroidered with white flowers, her hair partly done up while the rest hung down across her left shoulder. White ruffles ran along the dress from the top of the puffed sleeves and along the deep neckline which gave a tantalizing view of the soft curves of her bosom.

Adam swallowed hard, willing his body to stop overheating on an already hot day. Not many women around these parts dressed that way. She looked like a Southern belle straight out of Richmond. After hearing her speak for the first time, he'd known that she was from the South—before Joe had confirmed it. What intrigued him as he listened to her voice now, was that her Southern cadence was less noticeable, like it had been toned down, except for when she pronounced certain words.

While he watched her, he also sensed that there was a special air about her. An air of dignity and decency. It was in the way she held herself, respectable and proper, and there was a definite upper-class quality to her mannerisms. But it wasn't in a snobbish way at all. Because at the same time, she was so genuine and open with the people she interacted with and she gave her kind smile freely and frequently. He had never come across anyone like her.

Madeline was completely unaware of the spell she had the dark Cartwright under. She was intent on servicing the customers and she had just put some money away in a cash box when her face lit up as a small boy approached her. She guessed him to be around the age of ten. The faded, brown derby on his head was doing little to keep the blond mop underneath contained. His clothes looked like their best days were far behind them, but the boy seemed happy enough and he bounced up onto his toes so he could lean his elbows on the wooden table serving as a counter.

Madeline's eyes twinkled as she too leaned forward on her elbows.

"Good afternoon to you. And how might I help you, young Sir?"

Her formal address made the boy grin and he pushed up his hat.

"I'd like one of them glasses of lemonade please, Ma'am."

"Why certainly, one moment please."

She took the pitcher on the tabletop and poured the lemonade while the boy bent his head to check the money in his dirty hand.

"That will be two cents please, Sir."

When the boy looked up again, his mouth opened in surprise as she placed not one, but two glasses of the cloudy drink in front of him.

"Two cents will be just fine," she said. "I just happened to see you earlier with the young lady sitting over there." She discreetly tipped her head towards a little girl with pigtales sitting on a bench nearby. "I thought it might be nice for you to have a glass each. Is she your little sister?"

The boy looked at the little girl, then stepped up onto his toes again as he met Madeline's eyes. His tone came out a little defensive.

"I was gettin' the lemonade for her Ma'am. I wasn't gonna make her share it or nothin'."

"Oh, I know that." Madeline's smile was quick and understanding. "Don't you think I can recognize a young gentleman when I see one?"

The guarded expression disappeared from his young face and was replaced with open pride as he pulled back his small shoulders.

"All right then," she said with a laugh. "Now you take these"—she pushed the two glasses towards him—"and this is just a little something for being such a good brother."

Reaching beneath the tabletop, she pulled out a handful of mixed penny candies in brightly colored wrappers which she carefully tucked into his single shirt pocket.

"Geee thanks Ma'am! You sure are the nicest lemonade lady I ever met!"

She laughed at his plain excitement and watched him balance the drinks in both hands as he carefully walked over to the little girl where they could sit and enjoy their refreshments. With a faint curve of her lips, Madeline put the boy's two cents away before moving her attention to the old woman next in line.

Adam had seen the entire exchange between Madeline and the boy and he continued gazing at the brown-haired beauty, hardly aware of the smile that seemed stuck to his own face. When the elderly lady in front of him had been served, he finally stepped up to the table, feeling slightly uneasy about the lack of control he seemed to have over his body when he was in Madeline's presence.

She finished putting money in the cash box and looked up to tend to her next customer. The greeting she had been about to give never made it past her lips, and Adam was delighted when the stunned look on her face melted into one of pleased surprise. At least that's what he thought it was. He hoped so.

"Mr. Cartwright! I . . . I didn't realize that you were here today." She glanced around him and noticed that there were no other customers. "I am pleased to see you looking better . . ."

"Thank you, Miss Delaney, I'm perfectly fine now. The four mother hens of the Ponderosa have made sure of that." He took off his black hat and the corners of his mouth lifted. "It's very nice to see you again."

For the second time in just a couple of days, Madeline found herself looking into the most captivating eyes she'd ever seen. The man standing before her now looked quite different to the one she'd met two days ago. Today there was no stubble covering his attractive face. He was in a clean, white shirt and a black tie hung around his collar in a perfect bow. She realized now how tall he was, and though it was very unlike her, she couldn't keep her gaze from moving briefly to his broad shoulders.

But she quickly looked up again, back at his face, and it was his eyes that she had thought often about the last two days. They were the same now as she'd remembered them—deep with intensity and so many things she just couldn't identify yet.

With a blush she realized that she hadn't spoken in several seconds and she wrenched her gaze from his.

" _Four_ mother hens . . .?" she asked, her hands busying themselves with tidying the tabletop.

Adam smiled, watching her closely. "Yes, four. My father, brothers and our cook Hop Sing. He's just as bad as the rest of them."

"It sounds as though you are a family who cares a great deal about each other."

She was rearranging some empty glasses more neatly on the counter when the next thing he said caught her of guard.

"Georgia?"

She hesitantly looked up at him. "How did you know that?"

"I've heard a lot of Southern accents over the years. I guess I've gotten into the habit of placing them whenever I hear them." Adam laid his hat on the counter, gazing at her with a thoughtful expression. "I find a Georgian one to be a little more refined compared to other Southern states. It's quite charming, actually."

Madeline resumed moving the glasses around as he leaned his elbow on the edge of the counter, studying her intently.

"Why do you try to cover up your accent? It's as if your voice never quite knows where it's from . . ."

He was being forward, and he knew it. But he was so fascinated by her and wanted to see how she would react to the question.

Madeline's hands stopped, and she tilted her chin up, holding his gaze. When she spoke, she let her Southern roots shine through—the words were slow and measured, the vowels broad and smooth—and there was a mellow softness to her formal tone.

"I am afraid that these days, not everyone responds as favorably to hearing the accents of the South as yourself, Sir."

Adam had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his smile in check as they continued looking at each other.

The moment was effectively broken by Paul when he came over after he'd finished serving the other queue of customers.

"Well, hello there Adam. I must say, we're flattered that you thought it necessary to get all dandied up before visiting our humble installment." Paul gestured with one hand at Adam's attire while he took a sip of lemonade.

Adam turned to his friend, but not before he saw a flicker of relief cross Madeline's face.

"It's nothing against your fine establishment here, Paul, but actually, we've been invited to an event with the Cattlemen's Association at the International House later."

"Oh, I am sure your father is looking forward to that very much," Paul said dryly. "Well, I suggest you make your purchase now because here comes another horde of customers."

Madeline and Adam both looked to where the doctor nodded. A group of jabbering people were coming up the hill, straight towards the pavilion.

Adam fought hard to hide his disappointment. He hadn't had nearly enough time with her. When he turned around to face Madeline again, words seemed to completely abandon him. Suddenly, a pitcher of lemonade came sliding along the counter and stopped right in between them.

"Well?" Paul's grey eyes pierced through Adam from beneath bushy eyebrows. "I saw you queue up a while ago. I assume that your aim was to purchase some of this fine beverage?"

It was one of the rare occasions where Adam had no smart retorts handy and he noted how Madeline's cheeks now matched the color of her pink dress while sparkles danced in her eyes. Straightening up, he placed his Stetson back on his head and addressed her in his most dignified tone.

"One glass of lemonade please, Miss Delaney."

Madeline smiled gently at him and poured the drink while he dug into his pocket for two cents. He placed the money on the table and gave Paul a "happy now?" look.

The doctor responded with a sickly-sweet smile. "We must stay hydrated, mustn't we?"

With those words, Paul went to serve the customers who were once again lining up.

Adam took his drink and with a slow, deliberate movement, he tipped his hat at Madeline. Her pink cheeks turned a deep red and Adam sauntered off, a smile of satisfaction pulling at his lips.

xXXx

The next hour flew by and Adam got reacquainted with some of his friends, but he never strayed far from the lemonade stand. He'd often look over there just to see Madeline, and while she was busy most of the time, he had a feeling that she looked over at him too.

One of the things he'd wondered most about since meeting her, was her age. By now he was sure that she was in her late twenties, but she had a kind of ageless face; one he was certain would look the same in ten years' time. There was a distinctive serenity and calm in her demeanor which gave him the impression of a woman who'd lived a full life already. Then again, she also had a look of sweet innocence about her which in some ways made her look younger than twenty. And her beauty . . . already now he could tell that her beauty was of the timeless kind.

He could have kept watching Madeline all day, but it was nearing the time where he ought to be rounding up his brothers to head over to the International House. He'd seen Joe at some point earlier, but the kid had been preoccupied with the red-haired young lady clinging to his arm at the time.

Adam was just scanning the area, when all of a sudden, the sibling he was searching for popped up out of nowhere.

"Hey Adam! Hoss and me are gonna see Jake try his luck at the shooting. Come with us, huh?"

"I think you mean Hoss and _I_."

"Yea, yea," Joe said, pulling at Adam's arm, "let's go or we'll miss it!"

"Look Joe, we really should be—"

"Oh, come on Adam! It'll be quick, I promise. The real competition is over anyway. We'll be back looong before four o'clock"

Knowing that there was little to be done when his youngest brother's ebullience was at this level, Adam followed after Joe and prayed that their father would be in a forgiving mood.

They walked over to the sharpshooting event's entrance, went under the banner and ended up in the middle of the large crowd that had gathered there.

Joe led the way past all the excited spectators, to an open area where there was a table and a stage-like platform. A few rifles were laid out on the table and Joe's friend Jake was holding one of them, testing its weight. Hoss was also there, with a brown paper bag in his hand, and when he saw Joe and Adam approaching, he attempted to grin at them with a mouth half full of mixed nuts.

"I'm glad ya came along, Adam. Jake just did his test shot and it was right fine shootin'."

"Yea well, let's just make sure that we keep an eye on the tim—" Adam's voice broke off when he spotted their father standing among the onlookers with Bill from the Cattlemen's Association. Their Pa did not look like he was in a hurry.

Back at the pavilion, Paul had decided that it was time to have a break, so he'd gotten a friend to take over the stand for a while. Madeline was grateful for the chance to walk around a bit and she had her arm looped through her uncle's as they headed to the area with the sharpshooting. They found a spot in the audience with a good view and Madeline saw Adam straight away where he stood in the clearing with his brothers and the young man who looked like he was going to be doing the shooting.

Joe gave Jake a slap on the back when he'd selected his rifle and Jake went to take his position at the shooting point marked in the center of the open area. The official competition had been held hours before and now all the activities were purely for entertainment purposes since there were no prizes involved. Anyone could try out their marksmanship skills and the shooting distance was set at 300 yards, just like in the main event earlier in the day. All the rifles on display had been tested and estimated to have the same accuracy. The target was a standard round board with nine rings spread out from the bullseye in the center and the contest's goal was to get the highest number of points with six bullets. The closer to the bullseye a shot was, the higher the score. Three men acting as spotters were up by the target located 300 yards up the slope of Mount Davidson. They would mark the shots and signal the points to the announcer.

The Cartwright brothers moved back to the front line of spectators and people started to quiet down when Roy Coffee stepped up onto the stage and raised his voice.

"All right folks! Now, I'm gonna remind you all that we've already had the official competition—"

"Yea that's right, we got the finest shot in Virginia City right here!"

Muffled laughter rose up from beside the stage and Roy turned a scathing look down onto the man who'd interrupted him. The loudmouth was standing with a group of cowboys a few feet away and all their enthusiasm was clearly centered around one man.

That man was Chet Rose and he did little to conceal his enjoyment over the attention he was getting. He took off his hat, bowing for the audience and a gold medal engraved with the silhouette of a rifle and the words "Virginia City's Finest Shot" hung from a ribbon attached to his shirtfront. Chet was renowned for his excellent skills with firearms, so it wasn't really a surprise that he had won the competition.

"Like I said"—Roy's voice pitched above the rising noise level—"the official contest is _over_."

Roy aimed a sharp look at Chet before continuing.

"Up next is Jake Miller. Jake, you've got six shots and the bullseye gives the maximum of ten points. Chet Rose won this year's contest with a score of fifty-one points and the record is still fifty-four points. Whenever you're ready, Jake."

There were a few scattered cheers and whistles from some of Joe's and Jake's mutual friends as the young man got ready and took aim. Roy's deputy Andrew was standing a few feet to his side, holding the rest of the bullets.

Jake's first shot was a decent start and he got six points as he hit the fourth ring from the target's center. His second attempt was better, getting him eight points, and enthusiastic yells of encouragement spurred him on while he reloaded the rifle. The third and fourth shots were both in the third ring from the center and gave seven points each. When he poised himself for the fifth shot, Adam could tell by the younger man's posture that his concentration wasn't where it needed to be, and Jake paid for it when he hit the fourth ring again and got another score of six.

The crowd seemed to heave a collective sigh and the young man's head shake showed his disappointment when he was handed the last bullet. Jake took his time then and was rewarded when the bullet hit just inside the ring closest to the bullseye, giving him nine points. It was a great finish and when he turned around, his ears reddened at all the praise he received.

The Cartwright brothers went over to him and gave their congratulations. Forty-three was a fine score for that distance, and there was a general agreement among the onlookers that Jake would have been worthy of a place in the official competition.

Standing next to her uncle, Madeline added her own eager clapping to the applause. She was enjoying the hyped atmosphere and her eyes trailed after Adam as he walked over to shake hands with the young Jake Miller.

Joe flung an arm across Jake's shoulders, his face glowing with pride since it was him who'd convinced his peer to give the shooting a go. Adam happened to look over at the cowboys next to the stage and noted that Chet Rose had the look of someone who'd recently chewed on a lemon.

Just as Roy Coffee was about to speak up again, Chet walked over to Jake, the condescension in his tone a direct contradiction to his friendly smile.

"Well, that was some pretty good shootin' boy. Maybe next year you'll be able to come and play with the men in the real contest. If your mama lets you, that is."

Although the general small talk continued in the audience, the nearest bystanders abandoned their conversations, more interested in seeing what scene was about to unfold.

Adam was way ahead of them—the future ten seconds had already flashed through his mind—and he knew instinctively that his little brother's temper would be the main act.

"Oh yea? Why don't you just mind your own business or—"

Joe was cut off by Adam's restraining hand on his chest and he was forced to retrace the step he'd taken towards Chet when Adam stepped in between them. Jake's ears were now the color of ripe tomatoes and Chet and his friends released a group-belly laugh.

Keeping his hand on Joe's chest, Adam faced Chet.

"There's no need for any trouble here. Jake did good, so just lay off him, okay?"

Chet sized Adam up, his eyes gleaming as if he'd just received a very early Christmas present.

"Well now, if it ain't Captain Cartwright!" He spoke up into the air. "Boys, looks like the captain here thinks he's still in the army. Seems he wants to order us regular town folk around!"

There was another bout of laughter from Chet's companions, but their hilarity was not shared by any of the bystanders and Roy Coffee shouted a reprimand. Everyone, including a frowning Ben Cartwright, was now watching the group.

Feeling Joe's heart pounding under his hand, Adam slowly dropped his arm and turned his body to fully face Chet, his tall frame towering a good inch above the other man. The glaring warning was enough to give even Chet Rose pause.

After a moment, Chet turned his face to the crowd, finding temporary escape from the dark Cartwright's severe expression.

"Hey folks, I got an idea! I think Adam should have a go at the shooting, I'll bet he'll put up a decent show for us!"

The uncomfortable silence ended when a muttering began spreading through the audience, slowly intensifying like the sound of galloping hooves nearing. Adam's teeth clenched hard behind his tight lips and he spun around to walk away from this rapidly deteriorating situation.

Madeline was watching everything from the crowd, her brow creased in worry. When she glanced at her uncle next to her, she saw tension clearly displayed on his face. She also saw Ben Cartwright pushing his way past people.

Rushing towards his sons, Ben was hoping to get to them before one of them lost his temper and he broke through the line of spectators as Adam came over.

"Pa," Adam grunted, "I'm gonna go. I'll meet you at the International—"

"Come on, _captain_!" Chet's voice called from the clearing, "I'll even let you use Sharpy here. I put up my own rifle for this here display and it's the best one out of the bunch."

Chet came up behind Adam, waving one of the rifles from the table in the air.

Adam knew that Chet had gotten exactly what he wanted when keen shouts of "Come on Adam!" suddenly came at him from all directions. He twisted around to face the irritating man, wishing that he'd just let Joe shut the guy up when the chance had been there.

"What's the matter, Adam?" Chet asked, his voice becoming lower as he leaned into Adam's space, hoping to at least make the Cartwright blink. "You must have had plenty of practice the last couple of years. Afraid you're gonna lose your nerve now?"

The taunting words hung dangling in the air between the two men. But instead of lashing out with a fist like Chet so obviously wanted and probably expected him to, Adam forced a pleasant smile and silently began unstrapping his gun belt. And then a flicker of apprehension slid across Chet's face.

Madeline clasped her hands together tightly and she heard her uncle's resigned sigh before it drowned out in the cheering from the rest of the crowd. She didn't know what was about to happen, but the situation was making her uneasy as she continued to watch from a distance.

Adam turned to hand his gun belt to his father, and it was clear by the furious look on Ben's face that Chet's last taunt had reached further than the person it was intended for. Joe sported a clear "you show them, brother" expression, while Hoss looked just as worried as he did angry.

Adam held out his belt and a half smile appeared by his mouth.

"I'm gonna have to do this, Pa. Don't worry, I'll be quick about it, we won't be late."

Ben took the belt and shook his head while Adam walked to the shooting point. Half the Cattlemen's Association were there among the spectators, and Ben was pretty sure that being at the International House for four o'clock was the last thing on their minds now.

Adam was loosening his tie when he looked up at the stage and saw Roy watching him. The sheriff too looked concerned, his grey mustache frowning.

"I'll give it a try, Roy," Adam said.

Roy gave a curt nod and brusquely ordered people to quiet down.

Chet ambled over to Adam and handed over the rifle, then he followed his gang as they made themselves comfortable beside the stage again.

Taking a moment to admire the Sharps rifle in his hands, Adam assessed it to be an 1859 model. The Sharps had been one of the most common guns used by Union cavalry regiments and he'd done countless hours of marksmanship training with these rifles.

"Adam, you're entitled to a warm-up shot before you get your six bullets," Roy said from the stage.

"No thanks Roy, I'll just start now if that's okay."

Adam calmly took the paper cartridge containing both black powder and bullet from Andrew's outstretched hand. At that point he shut out everyone and everything. He placed the hammer of the gun into a half-cocked position, opened the breech by pushing the lever downward, and shoved the paper cartridge into the chamber with the bullet-end first. His hands moved smoothly and confidently, repeating the sequence of movements that were so ingrained into his memory that his muscles worked by pure reflex. Within thirty seconds of taking the cartridge from deputy Andrew's hand, Adam had loaded, aimed and fired the gun. As soon as the shot rang out, he began reloading the gun with practiced ease.

"Bullseye!" the announcer shouted, and after a second of shocked silence, the audience roared.

Adam hardly heard them, and before their voluminous applause had even half died down, he'd fired the second bullet and hit another bullseye.

Like the people around her, Madeline was watching Adam in complete fascination, so caught up in the excitement that she grabbed her uncle's arm, but even that didn't shake Paul out of his sudden stupefaction.

When Adam's third shot hit dead center like the previous two, Chet Rose looked physically sick and there was a new wave of ecstatic shouts and cheers from the crowd.

Ben Cartwright's head was spinning, both because of the phenomenal skill his oldest son was exhibiting, and because of the animated backslaps and shoulder shoves that were sending him flying in every other direction. Joe was literally jumping up and down, unable to stand still and Hoss had dropped his bag of nuts on the ground without even noticing.

As the fourth bullseye was called out, the reaction was oddly subdued. People were just too awestruck to find their voices or to move their hands and a blanket of comprehension fell on the crowd as everyone realized that Adam was about to beat the record of fifty-four points.

After he'd pulled the trigger for the fifth time, Adam was almost finished reloading the rifle and preparing for his sixth and final shot when something broke through his focused mind. The one voice he'd been listening for hadn't called out. He closed the breech of the gun and looked up at the mountain slope. The three spotters were standing by the target, apparently having a discussion. Then finally, one of them shook his head and signaled to the announcer who shouted to the audience, the disbelieving tone in his voice clear.

"Another bullseye! That's five bulls equal to fifty points!"

Raising the firearm, Adam placed the cap on the nipple of the gun and then rested his cheek against the stock as he fully cocked the hammer. The last shot echoed up the hill and there was an agonizing silence as Adam lowered the rifle and relaxed his stance, knowing he'd hit what he wanted. The spotter signaled wildly, and the announcer's voice pitched higher than it ever had.

"Bullseye again! That's six bullseyes equal to the maximum score of sixty points! We have a new record!"

The eruption of applause behind him ripped Adam out of his trance and it occurred to him that he probably should have missed the center with at least two or three shots. He'd just wanted to teach Chet Rose a lesson but after the first bullet had whizzed through the air, the urge to shoot to the best of his ability had taken over without him even realizing it.

Madeline had never experienced anything like this in her life and even though she couldn't share her exuberance with her completely stunned uncle, she was relishing every moment of the elated ambiance around her. Her eyes shone brightly, and they would not waver from the handsome Cartwright.

Forcing himself to turn around, Adam saw his youngest brother leaping towards him like an overexcited puppy.

"ADAM! HOW did you do that?! That was amazing!"

Before Adam could even open his mouth, his other brother grabbed him by the arms as if he was about to lift him up above people's heads.

"I ain't never seen anythin' like that before, I can't hardly believe it!"

Relieved that his boots maintained their contact with the ground, Adam noticed their father looking at him with an odd expression.

"Son . . .that was . . ."

"Pa?"

Parental pride shone through the surface of bafflement on Ben's face, but there was something else too. Adam was mystified and concerned when he couldn't place the hidden emotion in his father' features.

But now wasn't the time to start analyzing, the continued cheering reminded him of that. People instantly started shouting for more, wanting him to shoot at a target further away since the 300 yards clearly hadn't presented any challenge for him. Adam adopted a demeanor of indifference, hoping to discourage them as he went over to Chet Rose.

"You're right," he said, tossing the gun to the other man who caught it clumsily. "It's a fine rifle."

He walked back to his family and Chet crept off alone, his band of cowboys busy applauding the Cartwright.

Ben handed Adam his gun belt and Joe had never looked prouder standing next to his oldest brother. Several of Adam's friends came to shake his hand and a grinning Roy Coffee appeared as he let out his own stream of acclaiming babble.

When David Howell from the _Territorial Enterprise_ showed up with pen and paper in his hands, Adam decided that it was quite time to get out of there. Thanking everyone for their kind words, he bowed his head humbly and turned to snake through the bystanders who reluctantly let him pass. The rest of the family followed him and the spectators chatted on, reliving the amazing show they'd just witnessed. There was no doubt that the "finest shot" shooting medal had been given to the wrong man.

"Oh, my goodness, Uncle Paul! That was extraordinary!" Madeline exclaimed, squeezing her uncle's arm as she walked away from the crowd with him.

"Yes . . . I knew he was good, of course, all the Cartwrights are but, that . . . that was quite something."

The rather dazed doctor escorted his niece back to the pavilion and Madeline quickly went to work, her countenance still glowing with excitement. Happiness flooded through Paul while he watched her. It was impossible not to be taken in by the constant, joyful smile that seemed engraved on her beautiful face.

xXXx

Ten minutes later, the four Cartwrights were walking side by side on their way to the International House when Joe spoke up from Adam's left.

"Adam, how'd you get that good?"

Adam puckered his lips for a moment. "Well, I finished top of my class in marksmanship at the Point." He shrugged. "During the war I got better too."

"Huh." Hoss scrunched his mouth up to one side. "How come ya never told us that? About bein' the best in class, I mean."

Ben looked over and saw his two younger sons studying their older brother intently.

"I don't know. I guess I thought it was more important to tell you about the engineering and architecture courses at the time." Adam said.

Hoss and Joe pondered over that a bit.

As they got closer to the International House, Adam eyed the building warily.

"I sure hope there weren't many from the Association in that audience."

Ben smiled weakly and gave Adam a comforting clap on the back.

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello guys!_

 _I wasn't sure how well it worked with the last two chapters being quite long. So, I decided to break the next part up into two chapters. This is chapter 5, a little warm-up to chapter 6, which will be along in a little bit._

 _I want to thank you all for your reviews, I appreciate it very much and it really is nice to hear your thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy this next part._

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

The following week was busy at the Ponderosa ranch. The branding was finished, and the three Cartwright brothers spent their time busting broncs and rounding up cattle from the different pastures, so the animals could be driven to market.

Adam was content with working so much since he wanted to avoid going into Virginia City for a while, at least until the excitement about his little marksmanship exhibition had died down a bit. It hadn't been his intention to create such pandemonium, but instinct and habit had driven him to shoot with faultless precision when he knew that he could.

In the army, everyone had gotten pretty used to his proficiency with rifles and he hadn't considered how such a display of his skills might affect people out here in the West who didn't know the military side of him.

At the beginning of the war, he'd started out as a lieutenant in an infantry unit until he was recruited by Colonel Hiram Berdan to join the 1st United States Sharpshooters. The newly formed regiment consisted only of the Union's very best shots, and volunteers had to pass a difficult rifle test to be accepted into the corps. Adam had felt honored when he was given a position in what was considered to be an elite unit.

As he'd spent every day drilling the volunteers in the art of sharpshooting, his prowess as a marksman earned him quite a reputation. It was also during that time that he'd developed a true passion for the craft. He'd found that he enjoyed the thrill of pushing himself to that state of complete concentration and he relished the mental effort it took. And then there was that exhilarating feeling of pulling off a long distance shot and hitting a target dead on.

But it was quite a different thing when the target was another living person and that was the part he'd had a hard time with. Aiming at some unsuspecting Confederate officer who had absolutely no idea what was about to happen.

He could fight enemy soldiers when he was in open battle and he could take the shot when a Southern sharpshooter was firing at him. But hiding in a tree from far away and shooting at someone who was unaware . . . that hadn't sat well with him.

He had decided to leave Colonel Berdan's regiment and then he was promoted to captain in the infantry instead. However, he maintained a high standard in his marksmanship training and as a result, his men were above average in their rifle skills compared to other infantry companies.

His time spent with the Sharpshooters was one of the things that Adam hadn't thought to mention to his family since he returned home. But after they had seen what he could do at the county fair, they'd naturally had questions, particularly Joe. And Joe was persistent as always.

Adam didn't really mind telling them about it, and he had never had a problem with doing shooting demonstrations in the army. It was his job at the time, to teach and train soldiers, to prepare them as much as possible.

What he minded, was being hounded by those overly eager citizens who could ramble on for hours if given the chance.

It was the sensible thing to do, he told himself, to stay out of town for a while until things had cooled down.

The worst part about his plan to lay low, was that he couldn't see Madeline. He'd thought that meeting her properly without being half out of his head would bring him some sort of peace and satisfy his curiosity. Instead, their brief conversation had awakened a yearning buried deep within him. That hour he'd spent just observing her, had stirred something in him that no other woman ever had. Peaceful was the last thing Madeline made him feel.

Now, she was constantly there in the back of his mind and when he woke up every morning, she was the first thing he thought about, not the nightmares that had visited him in the night.

He thought a lot about the fact that Paul had introduced her as _Miss_ Delaney and Joe had said that she came to Virginia City _alone_ to live with the doctor. But Adam almost couldn't believe that a wonderful woman like her could be . . . _unattached._ And he didn't dare presume that he would be so lucky. He wasn't one to get ahead of himself, especially not where women were concerned. But Madeline Delaney was no ordinary woman.

He had to see her again, and soon. So, he started plotting, trying to come up with some excuse to learn more about her and a plan began taking shape in his mind.

xXXx

It was Monday afternoon, a week after they had been at the county fair when Adam and Joe walked wearily into the house. They'd spent the day together busting broncs and Adam was very impressed with how much his little brother's skills had improved in the past four years. Joe was undoubtedly the best bronc-buster they had on hand and Adam had said so, much to his youngest sibling's delight.

Ben was still going over some paperwork for a big contract they had just secured but spared a minute to look over at his boys sitting down by the fireplace. As he watched them from the alcove, Ben was pleased to notice that Hop Sing's hard work was paying off and that Adam had indeed put on some of his lost weight.

With a groan, Adam leaned back in his blue chair and Joe sat on the table in front of him, setting up the pieces for a quick game of checkers before supper.

"How can you do that? I'm in pain just watching you after all the horses you sat today." Adam grimaced at the way his little brother was sitting on the hard tabletop.

"I guess it's because I'm so much younger than you. Takes more to make me sore, _older brother._ "

"Is that right? Well you just stay there then, _kid_."

Bouncing onto the settee, Joe only just managed to avoid the swatting hand aimed at him.

Over by the alcove, Ben listened carefully for a familiar noise outside and got up from his desk.

"It sounds like your brother made it home for supper after all."

"When has Hoss ever missed a supper?" Joe moved a white checker piece while rolling his eyes.

The front door swung open and Hoss walked in, his saddlebags dangling over his shoulder and the little gap between his front teeth on full display.

"Doggone, that smells nice. I swear that long road from Virginia City will leave a man half starved. Sweet 'tatoes and roast pork?"

"That's right son, Hop Sing said supper will be ready in ten minutes." Ben went over and patted his big son's arm. "Did you pick up the mail?"

"Oh yea, sure did Pa," Hoss said, pulling a bunch of letters out of his bags. "There's a letter for ya from that Reno fella . . .and I got the _Territorial Enterprise_ too."

He put his saddlebags on the floor and held up the newspaper, walking over to the sitting room. "There's a real big thing here about the county fair. Adam, it's got you in it too! Right on page four!"

Adam dropped a black checker piece onto the table and looked up, his eyes narrowed.

"Give me that thing."

The wide smile on Hoss' face transformed into a frown of trepidation and he held out the paper at arm's length, careful not to get too close to his brother. Adam snatched it out of his hand and quickly found the right page. His eyes raced from side to side as he read and creases appeared across his brow.

"I can't believe he did this. I swear, when I see him, I'm gonna . . ." His voice trailed off and the two younger brothers knew that the silent pledge Adam had just made to himself meant nothing good for the writer of the article.

Hoss sat down on the sidearm of the settee.

"I thought ol' Dave did quite a good job with that thing, Adam. Said some real nice things about ya."

"It's been a week, people were probably just forgetting about the stupid thing and now . . . _now Mr. Howell's_ piece of writing here, has just freshened it up in their minds."

Letting out a scoff, Adam tossed the offending item onto the table where Joe promptly reached for it.

Ben had been half listening while he read his letter and came over to his sons by the fireplace.

"Easy, Adam, don't be so rough on Dave. And I think you're wrong about folks 'forgetting about the stupid thing'. You now hold the sharpshooting record, no one is about to forget that, and it certainly would have been criticized if the _Territorial Enterprise_ _hadn't_ mentioned what happened. He is a journalist, it's his job after all."

There was a little grumble from the blue chair.

"Here, maybe this will cheer you up," Ben said and held out an envelope for his cranky son. "It's from Washington D.C."

Adam perked up at that and took the letter. As soon as he opened it a big smile broke out on his face.

"It's from Jim," he said, barely loud enough for the others to hear and Joe leaned forwards.

"Is that one of your army buddies, Adam?"

"Yea, my First Lieutenant . . ."

"Really? What does he say?"

Smiling, Ben stepped over and placed a hand on his young son's shoulder, indicating that they should give Adam a chance to read his letter himself first. After a couple of minutes, Adam fell back in his chair, his face relaxed and the smile still in place. He noticed his family watching him in anticipation and he gestured to the letter in his hand.

"It's just Jim giving me an update on everything. The boys have gotten leave until they get orders on where they're being sent next. Jim thinks they could be moving west."

"Wow, ya think they'll be comin' out here, Adam?"

"I don't know Hoss." Pursing his lips, Adam placed the letter on the table. "It's hard to say when you're Regular Army. My company is now part of the 4th Regiment, US Infantry and they had a few companies stationed out here five years ago. They were dealing with the Indian trouble when the war broke out and all the regular army units were ordered east. Now that it's over, it's possible that the government will want to send some men out here again to support the volunteer units who are currently manning the forts around the territory."

Joe and Hoss became quiet as they considered what that might mean but the thought wasn't exactly new to Adam. He'd been thinking about that very scenario for weeks. Ben was staring at the cold hearth with glassy eyes and Adam noticed.

"You all right, Pa?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, I'm fine."

Adam wasn't convinced but he didn't want to press his father in front of his brothers.

"Hey," Joe suddenly said, "why does he call you 'cowboy captain'?"

Jim's letter was lying on the table and Joe was scrutinizing it, reading the words upside down.

Picking up the paper, Adam reread the last part of the message which had warmed his heart.

" _. . .will write you as soon as I know more. The men miss their cowboy captain."_

When he faced Joe, his eyes glowed with fondness.

"Oh, it was just a nickname that came about. You know, with me being from the West and I guess it was something in my manner, the way I acted sometimes. My good friend Henry started it with Jim and the rest of the men liked it. It carried a lot further than I expected though, when we got back to Washington D.C. for the celebration, practically all my superior officers called me by that nickname, the generals had heard of it too, apparently."

It always amazed Hoss and Joe that Adam would tell them the most remarkable things but at the same time make it seem like it was no big deal with his casual tone.

"I reckon that's a real fine nickname, Adam." Hoss gave him a serious look. "They sound like nice fellas, Jim and Henry. I'm sure glad you had some good friends with ya through all that."

Adam held those impossibly blue eyes of his brother's.

"Yea. They're good friends," he said softly.

A voice from the dining area called for the four men's attention.

"Supper weaddy now. You come, you eat or food get cold!"

"Hop Sing, you don't need to tell me twice!"

Hoss grinned at Adam and rubbed his hands together as he got up. He went to the dining table while Joe followed him blindly, his attention fixed on page four of the newspaper in his hands.

Folding Jim's letter, Adam placed it back in the envelope and smoothed his thumb across the yellow paper. He looked up and saw his Pa watching him in that strange way again.

"We better go to the table," Ben said. "Hop Sing hasn't made any threats about returning to China for weeks, best keep it that way, hmm?"

He glanced down at the letter in Adam's hands once more, then turned away and walked to the dining area.

Adam's brows knitted together. There was something going on with his father, but he had no idea what it was. As he stood, he took in the sight of his family sitting around the table together.

God, how many times had he dreamed of that sight over the past years? That picture in his mind had given him the strength to keep going and it was real now; so real that he could touch it and feel it. He could walk straight into that picture and take his place in it.

And after putting down the letter, that's exactly what he did.


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello you guys! I am thrilled that many of you seem to have connected with Madeline already, and we will be visiting her and her lovable uncle next. Thank you all for reading._

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

The next day, Adam rode with his father to Virginia City. His plan had been put into motion the previous evening and so far, everything was going smoothly. Yesterday after supper, he had suggested having a little dinner party on the coming weekend to celebrate the Ponderosa's latest big contract with some cattle buyers in Reno.

For a while now, Adam had been aware of the fact that his family were always careful not to mention anything about parties or entertaining guests and they'd even refrained from inviting their friends over to the ranch lately. They were still sensitive to his needs, just as they had been when he first arrived home where they instantly knew that a welcome back party of any kind would be a disaster for him. What they had needed the most these past weeks, was time together, just the four of them and Hop Sing, but now Adam wanted his brothers and father to carry on their lives as normally as possible. Besides, he couldn't take more of their fussing over him.

His suggestion about a dinner party had brought looks of delight to their faces and Joe had quickly stated that he would invite Maisy McCoy when he next went to town. He'd given Hoss a sly wink and said that Maisy had a sister but then abruptly—he turned to Adam with guilty eyes— so used to it being just him and Hoss that he'd forgotten about a girl for his oldest brother.

Adam had just chuckled good-naturedly and assured them that he would be fine with simply talking to some old friends for the evening. Then, he casually mentioned maybe inviting Roy Coffee and Doc Martin. As he'd expected, Hoss spoke up, telling him not to forget "that sweet little gal, Miss Delaney", and Adam had raised his eyebrows as if suddenly just remembering the doctor's niece.

Yes, the first part of his scheme had come together nicely indeed, and then this morning, his father presented him with the perfect opportunity to initiate the second phase of his plan.

His Pa had stood from the table after breakfast and said that there was some ranch business that needed handling in town. Adam, being the dutiful firstborn son that he was, quickly offered to go with him to take care of the bank matters.

They had ridden out together minutes later and were now well on their way to Virginia City.

They had a pleasant ride and his father seemed more like himself, so Adam didn't bring up whatever was bothering the older man. Maybe it really wasn't anything to worry about after all and Hoss and Joe didn't appear to have noticed that anything was wrong.

When they arrived at the Post office in town, Adam got the distinct sense that the temperature was higher here than on the Ponderosa. His gaze floated down the street in the direction of Doctor Martin's house when a hand on his arm almost made him jump out of the saddle.

"I'm just going to send a letter to the buyers in Reno, then I have that meeting with the Association in fifteen minutes. Are you all right, son?"

"Yea Pa, I'm fine." Adam looked down at his father who'd already dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching rail. "I'll take care of the payroll for the hands and deposit the payment for the lumber delivery at the bank. I'll uh . . .I'll probably go to Paul's while you're at that meeting. You know, to invite the doc and his niece to the dinner on Saturday."

So far, Adam had thought that he'd gotten away with his plot without arousing any suspicion. The look his father gave him, told him otherwise.

"All right then," Ben said with a hinted smile. "I'll be done in about an hour, then we can head home."

"Okay, I'll meet you over at the Cattlemen's Association in an hour then."

Adam moved his knees against Sport's flanks, more than ready to get away from that knowing expression of his Pa's, and the big chestnut trotted down the street towards the bank.

xXXx

After he had taken care of the financial business and arranged for the payroll to be picked up the next day by Joe, Adam collected Sport and rode towards Paul Martin's house. He kept his hat low on his face and gave a brief nod to the people who greeted him, but he wasn't deaf to the occasional whispers that started up as he rode past one building after the other.

When he got to the doctor's house and practice, he saw a "closed" sign hanging beside the front door. Since Paul's working hours were so varying and it often ended with him being on duty for entire weekends, he tried to close his practice early on Tuesdays, taking on only emergency cases in these afternoons. He'd had this particular rule for almost as long as Adam had known him.

Adam dismounted and took his time tying Sport's reins to the hitching post outside the house. He walked up the wooden steps to the white-painted porch and pulled out his pocket-watch to check the time. _Five minutes past three o'clock._

Putting the watch away, he raised his hand, about to knock on the front door when he hesitated.

Madeline was probably inside. There was even a possibility of her being the one opening the door.

He moved his hands across his black shirt, dusting himself off, then took off his hat and gave the Stetson the same treatment. The thought of seeing her beautiful face again and of hearing her soft, feminine voice, had distracted him all last week and even cost him a few games of cribbage and checkers to his younger brothers.

And now that the thought had become a reality, he was both surprised and quite unnerved by his sudden physical reaction. His heart was pounding so hard, he couldn't even make out the sounds of the busy street behind him, and he briefly entertained the idea of hightailing it over to the Bucket of Blood and returning in a little while, after he'd found his nerve at the bottom of one of Sam's bottles.

 _For God's sake, what's gotten into me? If Joe and Hoss could see me now . . . Just knock on the door!_

Thoroughly frustrated with himself, Adam expelled a rush of air through his nose and replaced the hat on his head before knocking firmly on the door. As he waited for it to open, he quickly wiped his palms on the back of his pants _._

 _Maybe it'll be Paul who opens. Maybe she isn't even here at the moment._

He ended up ripping the hat off again, holding it in his fidgeting hands just as the door clicked and began to move.

"Adam!"

It was Paul. _Thank God._

Paul Martin's vibrant smile at seeing his good friend quickly vanished.

"What is it Adam? What's wrong?"

After letting out the breath he'd been holding, Adam took in Paul's question and worried tone of voice.

"Oh, uh nothing, Paul. Nothing's wrong. I just, well . . . I wanted to stop by."

"Heavens, Adam . . ." Paul sagged against the door, grabbing at his chest. "I've never seen you look so relieved to see me. I thought something terrible had happened and that you needed my assistance. Come in, my friend."

Adam inwardly cringed at the doctor's statement, feeling that at the rate he was going, he would indeed need Paul's assistance before this day was over. He stepped inside the house, his hands still tormenting his hat when a wave of delicious smells assailed his senses as he stood in the foyer.

"You come at the perfect time," Paul said and Adam followed him past the staircase by his office, down the hall leading to the kitchen. "I have just put bread in the oven. I ah . . . well, Madeline has been teaching me. It was her idea, actually. There's fresh coffee too."

A smile began pulling at Adam's mouth, when he noticed the patches of flour sticking to the doctor's grey vest. He knew how Paul liked to try new things and to have different projects outside of his doctoring which took up so much of his life. Baking was apparently his newest endeavor.

When they reached the open doorway to the kitchen, Adam was immensely grateful for the fact that he was standing behind Paul and not in front of him. Across the room by the water pump, stood Madeline. She had her back to them, her deep brown hair partly held up by a flower clip while the rest swirled in long curls down her neck and shoulders. She wore a simple blue dress and white strings of an apron were tied in a neat bow at her waist, accentuating her slim figure.

"Madeline, dear. Look who is here."

Adam didn't comprehend Paul's words—only that she was about to turn around—and he found that he was equally grateful for the practical doorway in which he stood, since it provided him with some excellent casual-looking-leaning-potential. Finally faced with the woman who had occupied his mind for the last week, he suddenly needed the support of the wall next to him very much.

Her face brightened at the sight of him and she wiped her hands on a dishtowel before crossing the room.

"Mr. Cartwright, it is a pleasure to see you again."

Taking a leap of faith, Adam stepped away from his doorway and gently took her outstretched hand in his.

"The pleasure is entirely mine, Miss Delaney." He bowed his head slightly while gazing into her eyes and offered up his most charming smile.

It was the strangest thing, it only lasted a moment and yet, it seemed as if time slowed to a complete stop. They just looked at each other and that connection that Adam had known would be there, almost overwhelmed him. Her hand fit so perfectly in his. The eye contact lasted undoubtedly longer than what could be considered appropriate and Madeline abruptly lowered her gaze.

From somewhere to Adam's right, Paul made a loud cough. "Yes Adam, the pleasure _will_ be yours indeed, just wait 'til you taste these freshly-made bread rolls here—individually shaped too, they are." The doctor grabbed a dishtowel from the kitchen table and stepped over to the wood cook stove to peek at his creations.

With regret, Adam let go of Madeline's small hand and she carefully smoothed down her apron before tentatively looking up at him again. Her rosy lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but when no words came, one side of his own mouth slowly curled upwards.

Suddenly, she spun around and walked back to the cast iron pump.

"Please, forgive the mess Mr. Cartwright." She began wiping the top of a kitchen cupboard next to the water pump. "We started out very organized, but things got a little out of hand and we've just had a slight mishap with the flour."

"I really am sorry, Madeline," Paul said from over by the stove, his face contrite. "I have no idea how that happened."

"Uncle Paul, please don't worry yourself. It was just an accident."

For the first time, Adam noted the state the room was in. A light layer of flour covered most of the shelves and storage cabinets and parts of the kitchen floor. Red and white checkered dishtowels were dotted around and worn papers, which Adam assumed were recipes, lay strewn about. The kitchen table in the middle of the room was overflowing with bags of flour and sugar, a basket of eggs and several jugs and spoons. But what really caught Adam's attention was the impressive—albeit fairly unbalanced—tower of various bowls and dishes stacked on top of each other near the edge of the table.

It did not require a degree in architecture to predict what was about to happen when Paul thoughtlessly tossed his dishtowel back onto the table. The cloth barely brushed the pile of kitchenware, but it was enough and Adam sprang forward just as Madeline turned with a gasp and Paul moved at a surprising speed from the stove.

They all three grabbed at the slanting tower, steadying it in the last second.

Silence followed.

"Well . . ." Paul chuckled weakly. "That was rather close. It was perhaps an error on my part, stacking them like that."

Madeline turned to look at her uncle with a smile that was simply too fond to allow for much exasperation. As she did so, a stray, smooth curl fell free to rest on her cheek and left Adam mesmerized. He realized that his hand covered hers where they had both tried to save a ceramic mixing bowl.

"Why don't I just take these," he said and easily lifted the top half of the tower. He walked over to place it in a clear spot on a worktable attached by hinges to the wall. Then he went back to help Paul clear the table but when the doctor looked up, he stopped what he was doing, pointed at Adam and laughed.

Frowning in puzzlement, Adam looked down at himself and saw that his black shirt was covered in flour where the kitchen items had leaned against his chest as he'd carried them.

"Uncle Paul!" Madeline chastised and hurried over to Adam.

"Oh, I do apologize Mr. Cartwright." Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together as she searched for a clean towel.

"It's quite all right, Miss. I'm used to getting covered in trail dust and that's much worse than this. I'm sure it'll come right off."

"Just hold on one moment, I know that we have a clean towel here somewhere."

Adam began brushing the flour off, thinking how cute she looked scurrying around like that, when she came over with a new dishcloth in hand. She reached out to him and he felt an electric tingle of anticipation run through his body, but then she suddenly seemed to stop herself and handed him the cloth instead.

"Here you are, I do hope it comes out easily . . . Let me get you some coffee."

"Thank you."

Hiding his disappointment, he set to work on making his now greyish-black shirt all black again and walked to the table. He sat down on one of the chairs and bent down to pick up his hat where it had landed when he'd jumped over to prevent the kitchenware collapse.

Seeing that his Stetson had encountered the soft, white powder residing on the floor, he turned the dishcloth on the hat. Paul came out of the built-in pantry at the far end of the room after putting the dry goods away and he sat down opposite Adam.

"If you think the kitchen looks bad now, you should have seen it a couple of days ago when I made beef casserole. It turned out quite well I thought. Dumplings and all."

Madeline placed a tray with two cups of coffee and a cup of tea on the table. Nodding his thanks, Adam took one of the coffee cups.

"Well, I think it's great Paul, you taking an interest in cooking."

"Yes, I suppose after taking one look at my somewhat limited pantry, my niece took it upon herself to widen my culinary knowledge."

Madeline faced her uncle with lively eyes, so vividly green.

"Uncle, it was high time. You can't very well live off your own eggs and bacon and occasional meals at the International House." She poured a little spoonful of sugar into her tea. "Also, I do believe you've enjoyed exploring the arts of cookery these last few days."

"You're not considering a change in career now, are you, doc?" Adam asked, the mirth apparent in his voice.

Paul, whose lips were puckered as he was about to sip his coffee, quickly lowered the cup and looked at Adam in disbelief.

"Ha! Can you imagine that? Lord knows what would happen if I wasn't around to patch up you or one of your brothers every other week!"

Smirking, Adam raised his cup but then noticed Madeline observing him intently. He was about to ask her if something was wrong when a distinctive scent seemed to drift over and reach all three of them at the same.

"Uhm . . ." he turned in his chair. "I think—"

"Uncle!"

Madeline grasped Paul's sleeve with a look of frozen shock on her face and the doctor's eyes slowly widened as realization dawned on him.

"My God, No!"

Paul flew from his chair, knocking the wooden piece of furniture to the ground in the process, and he almost slipped on the floury floor before grabbing a towel and ripping open the oven's little door.

A small cloud of smoke wafted out from the stove and appeared to engulf the doctor's head for a second as he coughed, waving his hand frantically. Madeline swiftly went to open the window above the water pump and Adam stood, watching the scene uncertainly.

The smoke quickly dispersed and left Paul standing there, his shoulders slumped.

Adam and Madeline exchanges glances as the doctor kept his back to them.

Finally, Adam cleared his throat. "Paul, I'm sure that it's not"—the doctor slowly turned around—"so . . . bad."

Madeline delicately brought a hand up to cover her mouth and Adam just stared at the blackened, uneven lump, which had once apparently been individually shaped bread rolls. Paul's gaze was transfixed on the oven rack in his hands.

"I completely forgot."

Looking over at Madeline, Adam glimpsed the faint smile that had gradually developed behind her hand and he fought to contain his laugh.

"Now doc, it could have happened to anyone." He patted the older man on the shoulder in reassurance, which made a light puff of flour rise to the air. Madeline stepped forward and with a towel, she gently took hold of the rack.

"I'll get rid of these, Uncle Paul, and we can have the loaf I made earlier instead. We still have the gooseberry pie which is all prepared and ready to be baked. We can try the rolls again some other time."

Her tone was soft and kind and Adam felt he could listen to that voice all day. He was also pleased that she was speaking in her natural way, her Southern accent flowing freely and unhindered.

Paul seemed to come back to himself and bowed his head in resignation. He looked down at his shirt and saw that there were now dark smudges along his sleeves which had somehow gotten there when he'd retrieved the rack forcibly from the oven.

"Well, I think I'll just go and clean up a bit. I believe we can safely discount baking as being one of my talents."

Although the corners of his mouth briefly lifted, his eyes remained empty and he turned and headed out of the kitchen.

Madeline watched him sympathetically as he left, then she set about throwing the burnt lump away. Adam sat back down in his chair and took a drink of coffee while he observed her. He really didn't want to be impolite and tried not to stare. She was just so beautiful. The way her full skirt danced graciously across the floor as she moved, and the silk material tightened and stretched across her body when she reached for something. That same curly lock kept slipping free into her face and she kept brushing it behind her ear in that adorable way of hers. He tried to take it all in so he could remember her as clearly later as he saw her now. But he knew it wouldn't be enough.

He hastily averted his eyes when she came over to the table, holding a new tray loaded with a variety of preserves, ham and a loaf of bread.

"How is your family, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Oh, they're fine, thank you. The ranch is busy this time of year, plenty of work to tie us all down. I'll probably be in for it with my brothers when I get home since I got to spend the day in town handling business and such."

"I imagine that managing business and finances is an important part of running a ranch like the Ponderosa, Sir." She gestured towards the tray. "Please, help yourself."

"Thank you."

He began cutting a few slices of the bread. "So, how are you finding life out here, Miss Delaney? It must be quite a change from what you're used to."

"Well, I am certainly learning new things every day." She took a slice of bread and her expression turned thoughtful. "I must say that the West offers up a very refreshing perspective on a number of aspects. The way of life, nature, even just the people who live here. It is all quite special."

"I agree with you that it's special," Adam said, and took a glass jar of crab apple jelly. "Both my father and I have seen most parts of the country but nothing compares to riding across the plains of the Ponderosa. The landscape in the Sierras is like no other, and then there's Lake Tahoe of course." A dimple appeared by his mouth. "Although I might be slightly biased . . ."

"Oh, from what my uncle has told me, your words are no exaggeration," Madeline said in a genuine tone. "He has taken me on a few rides outside of Virginia City, but I have only seen the borders of the Ponderosa from a distance."

As he listened, Adam realized that her eyes held a natural shimmer that looked just like the lake at sunset.

"Perhaps you would like to see it up-close?" He blurted out. "Well, what I mean is . . . actually, that's why I stopped by. We're having a little dinner party at the house on Saturday. Nothing too grand, just a few friends in celebration of a big business deal we recently landed. We'd like it very much if you and Paul could come." His expression turned a little apprehensive. "That is, if you're not otherwise engaged that evening."

A smile began at the corners of her lips, pulling them slowly, wider and wider, until it dazzled all of her face. It was a different smile to the one she had shown him up until now. It was exuberant with just a touch of giddy and he was hooked on yet another thing about her.

"I don't think Uncle Paul has any plans. I . . . well, I am not very well acquainted around Virginia City yet so I have spent most weekends here." Her voice softened with sincerity. "It would be lovely to visit your ranch. Thank you for your kind invitation."

Adam let himself begin to relax and returned her smile. He finished spreading the crab apple jelly onto the bread and watched while she drizzled honey onto hers.

"There is one think I'd like to ask of you though . . ."

"Oh . . . what is that?"

"Addressing us all as _Mr. Cartwright_ might cause some confusion over the course of the evening. Please, call me Adam."

She gazed straight into his eyes, white teeth peaking out between her full lips.

"Adam," she said softly. "Then you must call me Madeline."

As soon as she said his name out loud, he knew that he was in real trouble. His heart did a little skip and he just wanted her to say it again.

At that moment, Paul came into the kitchen, dressed in a new white shirt and a black vest.

"What a terrible shame," he said, hardly sparing them a glance as he walked over to the oven rack leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry Adam, here I was, promising you freshly baked rolls and then this."

He stared down at the black dust and burnt lumps of dough that had dropped onto the floor under the rack.

"Never mind Paul. This loaf here looks really good."

Adam picked up the bread and bit into it, surprised by the light and fluffy texture.

"Yes, Madeline is a talented cook and baker."

"Uncle Paul, won't you come and sit down?" Madeline eyed her uncle with concern. "I have burned many batches of bread, it really happens to everyone."

The doctor straightened and quietly came over to sit at the table.

As Adam chewed, he couldn't help but find the situation a little amusing. The usually self-assured doctor looked pitiful.

Then, his eyes fell on the glass jar by his plate and suddenly he remembered noticing the similar jars lined up on one of the shelves. A thought struck him and he swallowed the mouthful, reaching for his coffee.

"Say Paul . . . you think you could tell me where to get hold of this crab apple jelly?" Adam gestured to his plate. "It's the best I've ever tasted. Hoss and Joe would love this stuff."

Paul instantly raised his head, the wrinkles by his eyes crinkling.

"Well Adam, I actually made that myself, Madeline taught me how to. I have a few jars, you can certainly take one with you home."

He rose from his chair with a burst of energy and Adam tipped his coffee cup against his mouth, shooting a little sideways wink at Madeline.

Her face shone with surprise and gratitude and she continued studying him when her uncle came back to the table with a full jar of the soft fruit spread.

"Thanks Paul, I'm sure this will go down well at the breakfast table tomorrow."

"If you would like more, just let me know. I have plenty," Paul replied generously.

Madeline turned to her uncle and laid a hand on his arm, her face aglow.

"Adam has invited us to dinner on Saturday. I don't recall you having any other plans that evening?"

The fact that a first name basis had been established during his short absence did not go unnoticed by the doctor. First, Paul's gaze was on his obviously enthusiastic niece, then it slowly slid over to Adam.

"Yea, so . . ." Adam shifted in his chair. "We're having a little dinner party to celebrate a big contract we just secured. And we all thought it would be nice if you and Madeline could come. Roy is coming too, I think."

"Well, that sounds very pleasant indeed." Paul smiled, but Adam was a little distracted by the way the older man's left eye seemed to twitch. "I have no other plans, no. It really is about time that Madeline got to see the Ponderosa in all its glory."

The doctor finally released Adam from the eye lock and took a slice of bread for himself.

The conversation turned to casual topics and Madeline asked Adam to tell her more about the Ponderosa, which he happily did. Half an hour later, the bread loaf was considerably smaller and the coffee pot by the stove was almost empty. When he realized that he had no idea what time it was, Adam pulled out his watch and saw that he should have met his Pa twenty minutes ago.

"I better get going, I'm supposed to meet my father. He had a meeting in town."

Madeline had completely lost track of time too and quickly stood up when Adam and her uncle did.

"Well, it was nice that you stopped by, Adam," Paul said. "I have missed this. I always enjoy our social visits much more than our business-related ones."

"That makes two of us." Adam gave him a dry look and picked up his hat and the jar of fruit jelly.

"Oh, I just remembered, I have something for you!" Paul held up a finger and without another word, chased his notion out of the kitchen.

Facing Madeline, Adam did a questioning head tilt and chuckled when she just shook her head helplessly, clearly having no idea what her uncle was up to. He made a gallant "after you" gesture with his hand and her blushing cheeks dimpled faintly as she went in front of him out of the kitchen doorway.

"Thank you for the coffee. And the bread was delicious. Paul is right, you are a great baker," he said as they walked down the hall to the foyer.

"Thank you and you are very welcome." She glanced over at him, her face earnest as she spoke. "It was nice to have a visit from someone who isn't a patient. I'll look forward to Saturday and to seeing your ranch."

"Ah, here we are." Paul came out of the the sitting room, holding a paper in his hand. "I thought you might like to keep this. As a sort of memory of a grand accomplishment. It's right on page—"

"Page four, I know." Adam released a sigh and took the copy of the _Territorial Enterprise_. "The only place I'll be keeping this is on the fireplace."

"Come now, Adam. In my opinion it is a very impressive, not to mention quite flattering piece of writing of Dave's."

Paul's eyes gleamed with mischief and Madeline watched Adam's dismissive reaction curiously.

"Paul, you know that I hate this, he undoubtedly knows it too. It's too much. As far as Dave Howell is concerned, he better make an effort to avoid bumping into me for the next month at least."

"Ah yes, Dave, the scoundrel!" Paul struck a dramatic pose, raising one fist to the air. "After all, writing an article about you and giving an _accurate_ account of the events . . . why, whoever heard of such a thing."

Adam slowly looked up at the doctor, already knowing the answer to his question.

". . .You were there?"

Paul nodded, and Adam turned to face Madeline who smiled carefully at him, sensing his discomfort.

"I have never been a spectator at such a display before," she said. "I was so very impressed by your skills, it was beyond extraordinary."

"Well I . . ." He scratched the back of his neck. "It wasn't anything really."

Ten years ago, those words would have made Paul look incredulously at the younger man, but he knew Adam so well that he had expected them and instead, he just laughed at the ridiculous statement.

All three startled when there was a knock on the door. Being the closest, Paul opened it and a familiar voice floated into the foyer.

"Hi Paul. I'm looking for that oldest boy of mine, is he here?"

"Ah, you mean your little sharpshooter?"

Paul ignored the look that he knew Adam was drilling into the back of his head. "Yes, he was just leaving to meet you."

Adam went to the door and met his father with a sheepish expression.

"Ready to head home, son?" Ben asked, amused.

"Sure, Pa."

Just as Adam stepped out the door, Paul snatched the newspaper out from under his arm.

"I think I'll keep this here where it won't encounter any fireplaces."

Adam smiled past gritted teeth.

"I'll see you on Saturday, Paul."

When he looked at Madeline, the mild tension in his expression melted away. "I'll look forward to seeing you too, Madeline."

She dipped her head, and it seemed that every smile she gave him, got brighter than the last.

Adam walked down the steps of the porch to get Sport ready while his father hung back. Ben held out a hand to Madeline and his deep coffee brown eyes shone with genuine warmth.

"I am so glad that you'll be joining us, dear."

"I thank you for the invitation, Mr. Cartwright. I am very excited to finally see the Ponderosa."

Ben noticed that Paul had gone quiet and that he was looking down into the street, his forehead furrowed. Madeline's attention also seemed to shift and Ben turned, and immediately saw what they had seen. Two cavalry soldiers were walking towards Adam.

Adam was just packing the jar of crab apple jelly into his saddlebags when he heard footsteps behind him and twisted around to see two young men in uniform approaching. They stopped by the hitching rail and saluted him.

"Good day, Sir," one of the men said, "I am Lieutenant Perry and this is Private Wilson."

Adam had responded by reflex with a crisp salute of his own and smiled.

"Good day Lieutenant. But there's really no need for such a greeting, I have resigned my position."

"Yes, so I've heard, Sir. We have been in Virginia City the last ten days, but we're now about to head back to camp with the rest of our men. We were just on our way to the livery stable and wanted to stop and express our admiration." The soldier paused and tipped his head a little shyly. "I hope you don't mind, we were in the audience at your shooting demonstration last week, you see."

"Not at all," Adam said, studying them with interest. "Thank you gentlemen. What unit are you in?"

"We are from company D of the 1st Battalion Nevada Volunteer Cavalry, Sir. Under Lt. Colonel George. Stationed at Camp Nye near Carson City."

"Would that be Milo George?"

"Yes, Sir. He was recently promoted. You know him, perhaps?"

"Yes, I knew him years ago. I'm pleased to hear that he is doing well."

Adam spoke with the soldiers for a couple of minutes and they told him they'd been in Virginia City to protect a group of friendly Indians who were being harassed. With the mounting Indian trouble, it was not uncommon to see cavalry soldiers around the towns of the West. The two young men continued addressing him as if he were a captain in active duty and Adam was warmed by it. More than a month had passed since he'd spoken face to face with someone from the army. These two soldiers reminded him of several of his own men and it felt familiar, talking with them. It felt nice.

When Adam sensed a movement to his right, he glanced over and saw his father coming down the porch stairs of Paul's house.

"Well, it was a pleasure talking to you," he said, regarding the soldiers with a smile as he shook both men's hands. "Have a safe trip back to your camp."

"Thank you, Sir."

They turned and gave a nod of greeting to Ben who politely returned it, then they disappeared down the street.

Ben went over to Adam and began untying Buck's reins from the hitching rail. "You think we can go home now?"

Adam frowned at the slightly snappy edge to his father's tone. "Sure."

They mounted up and Adam tipped his hat at Paul and Madeline who were still standing on the porch. They waved back at him and his eyes lingered for a long moment on the doctor's niece before he and his father headed back up the street.

xXXx

The ride out of town was silent and when they got beyond the outskirts of Virginia City, Adam looked over at his father who was staring off into the distance. They were nearing fifteen minutes of no talking, when Adam casually leaned back, supporting himself with a hand on the upper part of Sport's rump.

"Pa, is something bothering you?"

"No, nothing is bothering me," Ben grunted.

"All right."

They continued along the trail for another minute, then Ben rose slightly and resettled in the saddle as he threw a glance at his son.

"Did you know those two young men?"

"Nope."

"It looked as if you really enjoyed speaking with them. Just seemed like you knew them."

"I did enjoy speaking with them. Now what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," Ben huffed. "Nothing at all."

Adam's brows lifted. "Look, it's nice talking to people you have things in common with. You know that feeling from your days at sea. It's no different with us soldiers."

"You're not a soldier anymore, Adam."

Ben kept his eyes on the trail, his hands clutching the reins tightly as he waited for a response but the sudden pause stretched out.

"You're right. I'm not."

Adam had said the last words in an odd tone, one that made Ben's eyes shoot to him immediately. When he saw that his son's countenance had hardened with impassiveness, he sighed.

"I'm sorry. I am being unfair. One minute I'm asking you to open up about this part of your life and the next . . . ." Ben fell quiet with a regretful expression.

He watched the side of Adam's face and spoke quietly."I truly do want to learn about this side of you that I know so little about. I'm incredibly proud of what you've accomplished. It just takes some getting used to."

He kept looking over at Adam as the dull clonking sound of the horses' hooves filled the quiet.

"It's okay," Adam said. "I understand."

Ben eyed him skeptically until the young man faced him and gave the little half smile that reassured him more than words could.

They turned back to the trail and rode on in companionable silence.

"You're still my little boy, you know."

Adam dropped his head, shaking it as he blew out a breath. "Oh, Pa . . ."

"What?" Ben chuckled, wearing a sudden full-fledged grin. "It's true."

"Whatever you say, Pa."

As if expecting his father to make some spontaneous physical gesture of affection, Adam maneuvered Sport just a little further across the road, widening the distance between him and his Pa.

Ben laughed, feeling strangely pleased that he could make his firstborn look like an embarrassed youngster even at thirty-one years old.

"When you're a father yourself, you'll know what I mean."

No reply came, but Ben didn't mind. He'd already seen the half smile creep back onto Adam's face.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello everyone!_

 _So, we're going to a dinner party at the Cartwright house... by the way, I had a little trouble uploading chapter 6, so I'm not sure if it updated the story correctly. Well, I hope it works properly this time._

 _Thank you again for your reviews and messages. And those of you who I sadly can't reply to (guests, "reader", Kathy) —I really appreciate hearing from you._

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

"What you do in here again?! I say stay away, you no listen!"

"Hold yur horses Hop Sing, I just came in to see if'n ya needed some help is all . . ."

"You keep hands where I can see!"

"All right, just take it real easy now."

Ben froze where he stood in the sitting room and waited, listening, but the voices from the kitchen quieted down once again. He had just finished tiding up his desk in the alcove and he walked to the fireplace as he scanned the room, making sure that everything was in order. The house was a lot cleaner than it had been for some time and everything was prepared for an evening with pleasant company and good food. The table was set with his own good china and delightful smells drifted out from the kitchen into the open dining room. Now, all that was left to do was to wait for the guests to arrive.

Ben ended up over by the blue wing chair and laid a hand on the top of the backrest. He absentmindedly rubbed the soft velour with his fingers, trying to think if he'd forgotten anything. When he looked down, he began studying the piece of furniture as if seeing it for the first time in years.

For a while, he'd been unable to stand the sight of this chair. Every time he'd looked at it, he saw Adam lying in a field somewhere, wounded, in pain . . . lifeless. On a particularly bad day, he even went as far as removing the chair from the house just to avoid looking at it. But when his two younger sons had come home and seen that it was gone, they'd found it in the tool shed within minutes and brought it back inside. Hoss and Joe had said nothing, they just set the chair back in its rightful place and Ben hadn't tried to move it again.

It was moments like these, that it truly hit him that Adam was home with them again. The whole house was different somehow. He could feel his oldest son's presence everywhere again, even when Adam wasn't physically there and this blue chair especially, had been given new life, simply with his nearness.

Suddenly, Ben's head shot up when a high-pitched tirade delivered in Cantonese resonated from the kitchen. Barely two seconds later, Hoss came out into the dining room with hasty steps, his hands tucked deep down into his pockets.

"I did warn you," Ben said. "You know how he gets, especially when he is cooking for more people than just us."

He couldn't stop a smile from forming when Hoss came over to the settee, studying the tips of his boots.

"Yea, I know Pa. I just didn't have enough snacks to keep me goin' until supper. It smells so darn good out there and Hop Sing just don't seem to understand—all I'm tryin' to do is show my appreciation for all that good food."

"Well, it won't be much longer. Little Joe should be here soon with the McCoy sisters and they will keep you occupied until Paul and Roy arrive."

"I sure hope they hurry." Hoss sat down on the arm of the settee. "Adam ready yet? I swear I ain't never known anyone who could sit in a bath as long as him."

"Don't forget Hoss, soldiers at war don't have the luxury of regular baths and I imagine that it's one thing he appreciates very much nowadays," Ben said, his expression sober. "He is up in his room still getting ready, I was just thinking about checking on him."

Hoss sat quietly, his forehead puckered above his down-turned eyes.

"Pa . . .you think he's doing okay? I mean, he seems better now I guess. He ain't as sad all the time and he don't look as puny like when he first come home . . . but it's just that . . ."

Hoss hesitated, looking as if he was going to say something more but then his gaze fell to his boots again. Ben went over to his son, laying a hand on his shoulder. Out of his three boys, Hoss was the one most likely to share his troubles, he'd been that way since he was a child. Honest and sensitive, and with a heart big enough to fit anyone who might need it. His natural instinct to help others had always been there and he'd brought plenty of strays home over the years—of the four-legged as well as the two-legged kind. Often times he'd acted as peacemaker between his two brothers and he was the worrier out of the three, or at least the one who showed it most openly.

The difficulty he was having with expressing himself now, told Ben that he'd been wrestling with these feelings for some time. When Hoss' head lifted, there was open concern plainly etched on his face.

"Dadburnit Pa, I just can't help bein' worried about 'im. He still gets that pained faraway look in his eyes like he's remembering somethin' awful. Or he looks tuckered out as if he's hurtin' when we come home from bein' out on the range and there just ain't nothin' I can do to help him." He dropped his head. "I just don't know how to help him."

The last sentence was spoken with the same helplessness that Ben kept locked up inside, but he tried to conceal his own pain for the sake of the son who needed him most at that moment.

"I know it's hard, Hoss. I wish I knew myself, how to do more for your brother. Trouble is, there isn't a _right_ thing to do. However much we want to help him, there are things we simply can't understand. We just—" He halted and squeezed the slouched shoulder beneath his hand. "We weren't _there,_ son."

"But Pa . . .can't we do nothin'?"

"Yes. We certainly can." Ben forced some strength into his voice. "We'll continue doing exactly what we have done up until now. Keep working this ranch and give Adam the chance to stay occupied. We'll be patient with him and show him that we're here for him if and when he needs us. But we can't push him too much, Hoss. He needs time."

Ben released his son's shoulder and managed a smile.

"Now, try not to worry. Tonight is a celebration, we are all going to have a good time, and that includes you! How about you prepare the punch? I don't think Hop Sing will mind that, just stay away from the stove."

Hoss' somber mood seemed to lift as his cheeks did with a small smile.

"All right Pa. I'll have that punch ready in a jiffy."

He stood and headed back towards the kitchen, but his gait was still a bit heavier than usual.

Ben remained standing in the middle of the sitting room, collecting his thoughts in the quiet. Glancing over at the big grandfather clock, he noted that it was already half past five o'clock. He turned and walked with resolute steps to the wooden staircase.

xXXx

Adam was trying to straighten out his shirt collar when there was a knock on the door and he half turned, knowing who it was.

"Come in, Pa"

The door opened, and his father stepped into the room.

"You about ready?"

"Yea. Sorry, I lost track of time a bit . . ."

"Yes, I guessed as much."

Ben smiled, watching his oldest son. Adam was standing in front of the oval mirror across the room, the button of his black pinstriped pants undone and his white shirt hanging open. His hair was still messy after the bath, but Ben noticed that he was perfectly clean-shaven. It took some effort for Adam to get his face that smooth and an image from the past suddenly entered the father's mind. His son had been around seventeen years old when it seemed that his facial hair started growing practically by the minute and Adam had been forced to shave thoroughly and often to keep it under control. He'd had an impressive beard growth ever since and although he'd often teased Joe about the soft fuzz that later appeared on the youngster's face every two weeks, Ben knew that Adam secretly hated how much maintaining he had to do on that front himself.

The image of that overgrown boy gradually merged into the young man standing by the mirror and Ben was left with a feeling of pride and a twinge of sadness.

"I was supposed to get the punch ready and time got away from me," Adam mumbled as he quickly reached for a comb, attempting to get his hair in some semblance of order.

"Take it easy, Hoss is sorting out the punch." Ben calmly eyed Adam's reflection in the mirror. "Joe isn't even here with the girls yet, you have time."

Deciding to abandon his disordered mop for now, Adam put the comb on the dresser and started looking around himself, his eyes skimming the floor and furniture. He lifted some clothes off a chair and spoke across his shoulder at his father.

"Pa, you see my belt anywhere?"

Ben spotted the strip of leather lying in plain sight on the foot of the bed and he went over to pick it up. He brought a fist to his mouth, cleared his throat and when Adam turned around to him, he held the belt up, wearing an is-this-what-you're-looking-for expression. Adam closed the distance between them, shaking his head.

"Thanks Pa."

When he reached out to take the dangling belt, his shirt fell more open and his father's amusement dissolved. Ben's hand stayed stretched out in the air for a couple of seconds even though Adam had taken the belt, and he continued to stare at the white shirt that had now fallen back into place, hanging down across the flat planes of his son's stomach.

Adam was concentrating on maneuvering the leather through the belt loops and didn't sense that anything was wrong. He was just about to start doing up the buttons of his shirt when his father spoke in a voice so soft and hesitant that it made him look up instantly.

"Adam . . .would you mind . . .can I see it?"

First, Adam just blinked at the older man, having no idea what he was talking about, but then he saw where those intensely dark eyes were fixed. Reflexively, his hand went to cover his side as if he were trying to protect what was beneath the fabric from his father's penetrating gaze. Or rather, like he was trying to spare his Pa from the sight of his pain. He looked away, but that deep voice spoke again, even softer than before.

"Please, son, I . . . please."

He stood there for one long moment, unmoving, but then finally, he lifted the shirt away.

Ben took a step forward, staring at the exposed scar on his son's right flank, just below the rib cage. It was small and circular, slightly puckered around the edges and almost looked star-shaped. He cautiously reached out and brushed the smooth skin with his thumb.

Adam released a shaky breath. Not because he felt pain—it was a long-healed scar—but because there was so much love and affection poured into that gentle touch that he almost couldn't bear it.

The lines on Ben's forehead ran deep and he kept gazing in strange fascination at the small mark which had nearly taken his beloved boy from him.

Turning his side a little, Adam lifted his shirt more to reveal a matching scar on his back which was somewhat bigger. Then he began speaking, the words coming in a steady monotone as if he were delivering a military report.

"The bullet went in at an upward angle and passed clean through. I was in the process of moving my men to support a gap in our lines when the shot winded me, sent me flying off Sport. I never knew who fired at me, only that the boys got him straight after. It was on the third day of Gettysburg and we had orders to hold our lines no matter what. Our medic Pip bandaged me up and I went back to the front line. My company had been moved to the center division of our army under Brig. Gen. Webb and we'd been expecting the major charge from Lee's forces. It was disastrous for the Confederates . . . and our lines held."

He stopped briefly, fighting to keep the memories at bay.

"The wound became infected and I . . . don't remember much of the weeks that followed. I was pretty out of it . . ."

Ben slowly straightened up and pushed the white shirt back down.

"Does it still hurt? Sometimes I notice you holding your hand there . . ."

"The memories hurt Pa, not the scars." Adam started doing up his shirt. "Sometimes it itches a bit and if I pull at it the wrong way it bothers me a little, but not very often."

Ben openly looked him over, almost overwhelmed by the immeasurable gratitude he felt. His son was alive.

"Thank you, Adam"

It was a simple and heartfelt thanks and when Adam looked up, he could clearly see how much it meant to his Pa that he'd shared this story.

It surprised him. And what baffled him even more, was the fact that he felt something close to relief over having told the man he trusted more than anyone in the world about one of the most painful experiences of his life. The scar was a token from Gettysburg, it was a part of him now and would forever mark his body. And now his father knew about it too.

A noise from outside pulled father and son from their thoughts and Ben went over to look out of the open window.

"That's Joe with the McCoy sisters." He walked back to Adam and only just resisted the fatherly urge to tousle the messy hair, knowing that he'd already pushed his reserved son far that evening. Instead, he settled for an affectionate pat on the back.

"Let's all have a nice time now. You know that things will be very relaxed with Paul and Roy and I'm sure those two girls will be busy with your brothers."

"Yea, I know Pa, I'm not worried." Adam smiled and tucked his shirt into his pants. "I'll be down in a minute."

"All right."

Ben moved towards the door and he was halfway out into the hall when he twisted back around.

"Son . . ."

Adam turned with a curious look and Ben's eyes still had that tender shine to them, but his lips were twitching.

"Your tie is lying on your desk."

With a faint smile, Adam listened for his father's footsteps disappearing down the hallway. Then, he went over to pick up the item he'd been about to search for.

* * *

Madeline sat beside her uncle on the buggy's seat and looked out at the scenery passing by around her. It seemed that after every half a mile they travelled, there was a new view waiting to take her breath away. There were rolling hillsides in some places, open plains in others and the land was rich with those Ponderosa pines which could be seen in the distance in almost every direction, stretching up high towards the sky. It was truly as magnificent as she'd imagined, even more so. Wild and untamed—completely pure—and overwhelming yet simplistic in its beauty as such nature is.

She pulled the wrap covering her bare shoulders closer around her. A little part of her wished that her uncle could just let her off somewhere at the side of the road, so she could take it all in properly and let the tranquility of her surroundings overcome her. She could really use that right about now because as they neared the Cartwright house, she was feeling anything but calm.

When Adam had asked her to come to the dinner party, she'd struggled to stay true to her lady-like upbringing. His invitation had caused her immediate excitement and she had counted the days since then. She was keen to see him again, this man who'd kept creeping into her thoughts ever since that first time she saw him at the county fair. There was just something about Adam Cartwright. He was special.

Although she was keen, she was equally nervous and for the umpteenth time since they'd left Virginia City, she looked down at herself to check her appearance.

She'd worked hard to finish her new lavender dress in time for the dinner. Last night though, she'd been so full of doubt as to whether or not it looked right on her or if it was even nice enough to wear for the evening, that she'd tried it on for her uncle. He had loved it and she'd trusted his judgement.

The off-the-shoulder short sleeves were very fashionable at the moment, or at least they had been in Georgia, and she'd incorporated a low décolletage, intending this as an evening gown. To make it more elegant, she'd decorated the large, flounced skirt with rows of tiny ribbons in a darker purple and complemented the dress with a satin sash in the same color, which was tied with a bow trailing down the back of her skirt. After some debating she'd decided to wear her hair up, adorning it with a few white pearls and letting smooth ringlets hang loose around her face.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm her nerves, she readjusted the sash around her middle even though it was quite unnecessary.

"Madeline, you look completely stunning, now stop worrying. Those Cartwrights won't know what hit them."

She faced her uncle with a weak smile. Then sheriff Roy Coffee, who was riding on his horse on the other side of the surrey, spoke across to her.

"Excuse me, but I gotta agree with the doc, Ma'am. I can't remember last I was in such stunning company."

Madeline's smile grew and finally made it to her eyes.

"Well, I am certainly delighted to be escorted by two fine and handsome gentlemen such as yourselves."

She looked over at Roy and he mumbled something, suddenly sporting an impressive blush. Looping her hand around her uncle's arm, Madeline relaxed, and Paul flicked the reins as they rode up the last stretch of the road to the Ponderosa ranch house.

xXXx

When they came into the yard, Madeline was instantly taken by the striking house and the sudden delight that seized her face showed it. Somehow, it fitted perfectly with her impression of the Cartwright family. It looked hospitable and welcoming, not daunting and formal like the homes she had sometimes frequented in Georgia at social gatherings.

The front door was open, and she gave a little wave as the Cartwrights came out one by one—Joe following behind with two young girls whom Madeline didn't recognize. When her uncle had parked the buggy sideways by the porch, her heart jumped as Adam came over to her side, just like she'd secretly hoped he would. She looked down at him, so handsome he was, his eyes that brilliant hazel color which seemed to change slightly every time she saw them.

"Madeline, you look beautiful . . ."

His voice was low and intimate and the admiring way he gazed at her left no doubt that he meant what he said. Her face heated, and she took the hand he held up to her.

"You are very kind, Sir."

She moved to stand up and he placed both hands around her waist, while she put hers on his upper arms as he easily lifted her down. When her feet touched the ground, she felt lightheaded and was grateful that he didn't immediately let go. She had never been this close to him before and the feel of his firm biceps under her hands did positively strange things to her. At that instant, she was completely unable to speak, the spicy aroma of his cologne flirting with her senses while he slowly removed his hands from her hips.

By this point, Roy and Paul had greeted the other Cartwrights and the McCoy sisters, and everyone was watching the two. Paul especially, was scrutinizing them until Ben addressed his eldest.

"Adam, perhaps the rest of us could have the pleasure of greeting Miss Delaney?"

Adam forced his eyes away from the beauty in front of him and noticed everyone observing them. He could tell that Madeline was slightly embarrassed that she hadn't realized it herself, but he just smiled and held out his arm to her, which she took as they walked around the surrey. She let go of Adam when Ben came over to her with outstretched hands.

"I am so pleased that you could come, dear. You look so very lovely."

Ben chose his words carefully, not wanting to openly compliment Madeline more than he already had the two sisters behind him, but the young woman's beauty was truly remarkable and everyone there knew it.

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright, and I thank you for your invitation." With a radiant smile, she turned to address the others. "It would make me very happy if you would all call me Madeline."

"That would be our pleasure, and I hope you'll call me Ben."

Adam stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a half smile by his mouth while he watched his father bring Madeline over to greet his brothers.

Hoss shuffled his feet and could hardly look at her while Joe was ever the charmer, taking her hand and giving it a quick kiss. Maisy's posture straightened a bit when that happened, but out of everyone there, Adam would have been the last to notice it. He was totally spellbound by the doctor's niece as she floated around on a cloud of lavender.

Madeline was introduced to the two sisters, and she took Millie's hand, then Maisy's as she greeted them warmly. They looked almost like twins; both had fiery red hair and a charming scattering of freckles across their noses, but Maisy was shorter where her sister Millie was tall and curvier. They were both very pretty girls in their own ways and wore elegant evening dresses in green and blue.

When everyone was properly acquainted, Ben suggested that they all head inside for some punch before the meal was served. Hoss and Joe led the sisters into the house and Madeline took Ben's arm, excited to see the inside of the Cartwright home. She did glance back at Adam, smiling, before she disappeared inside with Roy following behind her.

That left Paul and the oldest Cartwright son standing alone on the porch.

"You look well Adam," Paul said. "I am pleased and frankly, shocked, that you seem to have done as I told you for once."

Adam leaned back against the wooden support beam next to him and cocked his head.

"Why so surprised doc? You make it sound like I never listen to anything you say."

"Pffft, you never used to, not where these things are concerned anyway. What's brought on this sudden change, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Well, you say I'm listed as the second worst patient that you have and that isn't exactly an admirable accomplishment." Adam's eyelids lowered as he looked down to study his fingernails. "Maybe I just want to improve your opinion of me. Show you how responsible I can be."

The doctor's greying eyebrows rose up to where his hairline once had been.

"Aha . . . and just what am I supposed to make of that statement?"

"Make of it what you will, Paul."

Adam's eyes held a smirk that stayed hidden from the rest of his face. He pushed himself away from the wooden beam and sauntered to the door of the house, feeling the doctor's sharp eyes on his back the whole way.

Paul tugged at the tie around his neck and looked out across the yard. If he hadn't known it before, he was now sure that his personal life would become very interesting from hereon.

When Adam came into the house, he saw Madeline standing with his brothers and the McCoy sisters in the sitting room. For a few moments, he did what was quickly becoming one of his favorite things—he simply watched her. It didn't seem like she was doing much talking and that was understandable because Millie McCoy appeared to be pretty much speaking for the whole group. But Madeline was glancing around the room, her eyes gliding along the walls and furniture and Adam would have loved to know what she was thinking.

Madeline wasn't familiar with the people who were being discussed in the ongoing conversation, so she was taking her time studying the decor of the sitting room. It was elegant, yet cozy and she adored the large fireplace. The image of Adam sitting in one of the big chairs in front of a roaring fire brought a subtle curve to her lips. It was definitely a men's house, there was a very distinctive, masculine feel to the big room and the choice of furniture which also fitted with what her uncle had told her. She knew that there hadn't been a Mrs. Cartwright living here for many years. Her attention drifted to the opposite end of the room where she noticed an alcove. She lifted the glass of punch that Hoss had given her and sipped the sweet drink before taking a few careful steps closer to get a better look.

The sound of someone approaching behind her, made her pause and although she anticipated the smooth, baritone voice, it still made her body tingle.

"Well, do you approve of what you have seen so far?"

She turned around to him and then had to contain a blush and tell herself that his question was directed at the house's setting.

"Oh, very much so. You have a beautiful home. And the scenery on the ride out here was simply breathtaking."

The pleasure on Adam's face was evident and he gestured to the alcove where he'd seen her looking.

"This little area over here," he said as they walked towards the desk, "is where the Ponderosa is run from."

"I see. I suppose you spend much time here then?"

"Some yes, but I'm mostly out working around the ranch. My father does the majority of the paperwork and I help when he needs it or gets too grouchy about it."

"Yes, I understand. My uncle isn't very fond of paperwork either and he has plenty of it too."

She set her punch glass down and let her fingertips glide across the surface of the desktop. Then she noted three pictures lined up next to each other.

"Your mothers?" she asked tentatively.

Adam was surprised at the warm feeling that spread through him when she addressed all three women in the pictures as being his mothers. He knew that Paul must have told her something about the tragedies his family had faced but she hadn't asked him which one of the women was _his_ mother, just spoken like it was natural that he had three. It was an issue he'd struggled with a lot through his life, and occasionally still did, since he in some ways felt more connected to Inger and Marie than to his own mother.

"Yes, my birth mother Elizabeth, Hoss' mother Inger and Joe's mother Marie."

"They were all very beautiful. Your father must be so proud."

Adam's gaze was fixed on the dark-haired woman in the picture frame and all of a sudden, words he'd had no intention of letting out, sprang forward by their own will.

"She died just after giving birth to me. I never knew her."

"I'm so sorry . . ."

He didn't know why he'd spoken so openly and he instantly thought he'd made her uncomfortable. Facing her, he saw only honest, genuine compassion gazing back at him, just like he'd seen it that day he met her at the county fair.

"That's all right . . . it was a long time ago."

Madeline saw through his nonchalant shrug and knew that she'd learned something important about him. It was a part of his character which she recognized straight away as being a great strength but also on another level, she suspected, a weakness.

He quickly turned the conversation onto safer topics and showed her some of the Indian artwork his father had hanging on the wall which she was very intrigued by. About ten minutes later, Hop Sing came out into the dining room and addressed the party with a big smile.

"Turkey weaddy in two minute. Please have seat." He bowed, then scurried off to the kitchen again.

Adam saw Madeline's face glow with curiosity at the brief appearance of the quirky cook and he led her back to the great room.

"That was our cook Hop Sing. He's practically a member of the family, been with us for almost twenty years. He's very well-mannered this evening too so we better take our seats before that changes."

She smiled broadly and they walked towards the dining table where the others were also heading while they chatted and laughed. Suddenly remembering her wrap, she reached up to remove it from her shoulders.

"Would you like me to take that?" Adam asked. When she turned around, it took all his gentlemanly effort to keep from gawking at the neckline of her dress. The purple fabric hung gracefully across her bosom, giving a generous glimpse of her alluring curves. It wasn't too much, just absolutely lovely.

"Thank you," she said, peeking up at him through lush lashes as he took the wrap. He went over and placed it on the dresser by the door where the McCoy sisters also had theirs.

Everyone then stood at the table with Ben and Adam each at their end—the McCoy sisters to Adam's right with his brothers—and Roy, Paul and Madeline to his left. When Maisy and Millie moved to sit down, Adam quickly pulled out Madeline's chair for her before Paul could do it. The doctor glanced over at Ben, who made no effort to hide how entertained he was by the situation.

The men sat down, and cheerful conversation rose up across the table as everybody looked appreciatively at the trays of food laid out before them. There were platters loaded with sweet potatoes, biscuits, green beans and other mixed vegetables and two porcelain jugs of gravy. When Hop Sing came out of the kitchen, carrying a silver tray with a huge turkey, the women gasped, and Hoss grinned as he inhaled the delicious smells wafting up from the table. Ben began carving the turkey while Adam pointed out that Joe had hunted down the bird the previous day. That information made Maisy turn to the young man beside her with stars in her eyes and there was modest pride in Joe's features when everyone praised him. The platters were passed around and compliments to the food and fine wine were weaved into the casual conversation.

Madeline was enjoying herself more than she ever had at any dinner party in Georgia and when she wasn't speaking with Adam, which was most of the time, she was happy to talk to the others, including Millie and Maisy.

The two older Cartwright brothers were having a laugh together over a particularly elusive calf which had escaped when it was being moved from one of the corrals a couple of miles from the house. Hoss had found it earlier in the barn where it was hiding in the hay—chomping away on the apples that had littered the ground next to the horses' overturned fruit bucket. Adam held up his wine glass, saying that they should wait a while with telling the embarrassed cowhands who'd been outwitted by the little critter and Hoss let out a loud guffaw. It was a great relief for Adam, seeing his brother having a good time. He'd noticed that Hoss seemed quiet earlier in the day and he'd decided to keep an eye on his bighearted sibling.

Although Adam's attention had shifted onto Hoss, he was constantly aware of Madeline to his other side and the joy he got from simply having her voice in the background. He wasn't nervous around her in the same way anymore. That moment, when he'd lifted her down from the surrey and she'd looked at him, something had seemed to fall into place for him. He was oddly calm sitting next to her at the table now.

Paul Martin was also having a splendid evening and the pride he felt at being the uncle of the charming young lady by his side was a feeling he'd never experienced before. He now understood that look that so often appeared in Ben's eyes when he went to social events with his sons. Madeline was truly a blessing in the existence that the doctor had thought he'd been content with.

He felt proud sitting next to her, and he was happy to see her engaging in the conversation and sharing her thoughts and opinions on the subjects under discussion. She was finally coming out of her shell.

Naturally, he was mindful of her, even during his talks with Ben and Roy and when Maisy began asking Madeline about her life before coming to Virginia City, the perceptive doctor abandoned his own conversation and smoothly jumped in to steer Maisy onto another path. The gratitude in Madeline's eyes was reserved for her uncle only, but she didn't realize that another person had noticed the exchange.

Right away, Adam had sensed her discomfort at Maisy's questions and he'd seen the doctor's intervention coming before it actually happened.

Adam was sure that something in her past concerned her, but he knew that he would have to get to know her better before he could find out what it was.

When everyone had finished eating except for Hoss, Hop Sing came out and began clearing the dishes away. Madeline smiled at him when he came to take her plate.

"Thank you for such an enjoyable meal Mr. Hop Sing, it was truly delicious."

"Missy Madeline velly kind, got good sense too. You come back velly soon!"

The cook's eyes were narrow cracks as he grinned and bounced off to the kitchen and there was a little laughter around the table.

"You have such an impressive home here Mr. Cartwright," Maisy said to Ben as she put her hand around Joe's arm. Ben didn't get a chance to answer her though because Hoss spoke up, pointing a forked sweet potato at his older brother.

"It was old Adam here who designed it, Miss Maisy."

Both Maisy and Millie turned their heads in surprise and Adam smiled tightly at his brother while the look in his eyes clearly stated what he thought about that comment. Hoss continued munching away and Joe piped up too.

"Yep, older brother here drew it all out himself and him and Pa built it."

Adam tried to wave off the inevitable praise and he did a discreet sideways glance at Madeline to see her reaction. She stared at him in surprised admiration and then turned to her uncle with a look that seemed to ask why he hadn't told her that. Luckily for Adam, he was spared from more talk on the subject when Hop Sing brought out the dessert of apple pie and cream just as Hoss had cleaned his supper plate. The pie was tasty as the main course had been and afterwards, Ben proposed that they all move over to the sitting room.

Joe had other plans in mind and suggested to Maisy that they go outside for a breath of air, to which the young girl responded with an eager giggle. Leaning close to Madeline, Adam asked if she would like to do the same and she agreed in a somewhat more dignified manner.

When Adam pulled out her chair as she stood up, Maisy looked her over and spoke in a rush like she could no longer contain herself.

"Madeline, I simply have to know where you had that wonderful dress made! Is it from a store here in Virginia City?"

An almost startled look swept across Madeline's face and then a modest smile appeared.

"Well, I . . . no, not exactly . . ."

"Madeline is a talented seamstress wouldn't you say so?"

Her uncle's flattering words made her cheeks turn a faint pink and when she noticed that everyone seemed to take an extra, long look at her dress after that revelation, the prospect of a little fresh air was a very welcome one.

"Why yes . . . she certainly is!"

The others agreed enthusiastically with Maisy and Madeline thanked them all shyly. Adam came out of his stupor when she faced him, and he stepped aside, gesturing for her to go first. She walked over to retrieve her wrap while he went to open the front door, holding it open for his little brother and the giggly redhead. Hoss and Millie also went outside and then Roy, Paul and Ben moved to sit by the fireplace, not at all surprised that the young people had found other ways to occupy themselves.

Madeline drew the wrap across her shoulders and took the crook of Adams' offered arm. They walked out onto the porch and she sighed as the refreshing evening air hit her face.

"We can go over to the corral if you like?"

"Yes, all right."

They stepped down onto the ground and Adam pointedly ignored the cheeky wink from his youngest brother who had sat down with Maisy, Hoss and Millie at the far end of the porch.

They strolled across the yard in silence and Madeline tipped her head up to the darkening sky, thinking that out here in the West, it seemed greater somehow.

Once at the corral, they continued walking along the fence until they got to a more secluded area where long branches of the surrounding trees formed a green canvass above them. Sport was grazing at the other end of the corral but quickly sensed that his human was near and he trotted over to them. Madeline watched in amazement as the big chestnut went straight for Adam, nuzzling his neck affectionately.

"Come now Sport, where are your manners? Can't you see that I've brought you a beautiful visitor?"

He made a clucking noise with his mouth while gesturing to Madeline and Sport turned to her. The horse walked closer and stopped just in front of her, making little huffing noises through his nostrils. Then he lowered his head to the ground, his front legs stretching out slightly as he stayed completely still, as if bowing to her. Madeline looked over at Adam with an open-mouthed smile, her eyes sparkling with astonishment.

"Here . . ." Adam said, moving to stand behind her and gently taking hold of her hand, "he is saying hello to you. Hold your hand like this."

His hand lay against the back of hers and she let him control her movement, holding her arm out so that her palm faced outward to the bowing horse.

Sport's head lifted then, and his velvety muzzle came up to rest against her hand. The three of them stood like that for several, magical seconds and Madeline held her breath, so lost in the beautiful animal's intelligent eyes.

"All right pal, how about giving us a little privacy now, hmm?"

Adam flung a hand dismissively and Sport pulled back with a snort, seemingly understanding that his master wanted him to get lost. Unable to help herself, Madeline released a soft giggle as she leaned back, feeling a little dizzy.

"He is absolutely wonderful! It's like he understands exactly what you are saying to him . . ."

Adam couldn't speak just then, he was completely absorbed in the feeling of her petite body leaning back against his chest and the intoxicating scent of her hair just by his chin. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she stepped forward, her back feeling strangely naked at the loss of his warmth. She half turned to look at him and her heart was pounding so fiercely, she thought he must be able to hear it. It was that look, right there. The one that disturbed and captivated her so. His eyes trailed slowly across her entire face, from her chin to her cheek, across her small nose and up to her brow before he settled on her eyes. His gaze felt like a physical touch and the sensation left her helpless and flushed.

He moved up next to her and leaned his arms on the top rail of the fence, looking at Sport moving around in the corral.

"Whether you're human or horse, you both know it when you ride into hell. He was there with me, all the way. And we came home together. He's one of my best friends. Sometimes, he seems to know what I want and need even when I don't myself."

His tone wasn't sad but held a touch of wistfulness and when he faced her, she recognized the hint of bewilderment in his expression, same as she'd seen it when he'd told her about his mother. She correctly guessed that it was unusual for him to share such thoughts and speak so openly. He reacted the same way now as he had done earlier, by literally shrugging off the conversation but this time, the shoulder movement was accompanied by a new smile she hadn't seen before—a playful one.

"He's a real bright horse too, though sometimes too smart for his own good. Goes off looking for pretty fillies when I'm busy." He moved a little closer to her. "I have no idea who he learned that from, of course . . ."

"Really?" Madeline smiled, one eyebrow lifting. "I can imagine."

"Can you?" His voice lowered as he leaned even closer. "I could never have imagined that a woman as stunning as you even existed."

She felt a blush coming on but managed to repress the worst of it and she tilted her head to one side, watching him intently.

"Thank you, Adam. Funny you should say that, actually. I received a similar compliment earlier."

He paused and pulled back slightly. "Am I to understand that there is . . . someone _else_ trying to win your affections?"

"Is that . . . what _you_ intend to try?"

"Not try. I just intend to."

The lopsided smile he gave almost had her, but then she pushed out her lips in thought.

"In that case . . . well, I suppose it depends . . ."

"Mmm, on what?"

"On whether or not you can handle Sheriff Coffee and my Uncle. You see, I received the compliment from them."

Her words were followed by two seconds of silence, then Adam drew back as he burst out laughing. Madeline had never heard a more beautiful sound in her life. As her own giggling subsided, he suddenly took her hand in his.

"I'm sure gonna give it my best shot, Miss."

He kept his eyes locked with hers as he lifted her hand and she felt her pulse quicken at the exquisite feeling of his soft, warm lips lightly pressing against her knuckles.

Then, he took a step back, glanced over in the direction of the house and his shoulders seemed to fall a little when he looked at her again. She knew, as he obviously did, that it was time for them to return to the others. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm as they walked back along the corral fence.

Her heart sank a bit, when she realized how late it was and that her uncle would be taking her home soon. She turned to Adam and studied the side of his face, noticing his slight frown. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

Holding his arm a little tighter than what was necessary, she was happy to see his half smile slip back into place. As they got closer to the house and the sound of Millie McCoy's shrilly laughter, Madeline knew that this was an evening she would remember for the rest of her life.

* * *

It was her and Adam by the corral that Madeline thought about later that night when she was back at her uncle's home. The whole evening had been so enjoyable, but the time she'd spent alone with the dark Cartwright—that was what kept her mind too occupied to sleep.

The single lamp she'd lit, only barely illuminated the sitting room and she sat on the settee, a blanket wrapped around her, her knees drawn up under it. There was a noise at the door and her uncle peered in the room.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Paul, did I wake you? I couldn't settle . . ."

Paul walked in wearing his dark blue robe and sat down next to her.

"I was awake anyway Madeline. Personally, I blame Hop Sing for my insomnia. How can a man sleep with a stomach full of all that good food?"

The corners of her mouth tugged up at her uncle's humor. Paul observed her as she began tracing the pattern of the blanket with her pale fingers.

"I'm glad that you had a good evening, little Belle. Well, also I'm pleased that I finally got to show you off."

"I enjoyed myself very much," she said, her manner a little distracted. "The meal was excellent and the Cartwrights are such a nice family. Maisy and Millie McCoy were also very sweet . . . Maisy even invited me to join her at the Women's Social Club next week . . ."

"Mmm."

Paul observed his niece as she returned to fidgeting with the blanket. A minute passed during which he patiently waited.

Then abruptly, she faced him, a bright smile lighting up her whole face.

"Oh, Uncle Paul, he is wonderful, isn't he?"

"Oh yes, he certainly is." The doctor nodded agreeably.

"He was such a gentleman the whole evening . . . witty, smart and . . .charming . . ."

"Mm-hmm, handsome devil too."

Madeline sighed. "Just think, he designed that beautiful house himself . . ."

"Yes, he is quite something."

The tickled doctor watched as the dreamy glow in his niece's eyes slowly cleared.

"Yes . . . he is."

There was another brief pause until Madeline shifted on the couch, turning towards him with a frown creasing her brow.

"Uncle, I think . . . I think that perhaps—"

"You think that perhaps we will be seeing a great deal of Adam in the future?"

She smiled softly. "Yes. At least I hope so. Or I think that I do . . ."

Paul noticed the tension in her expression reappear. ". . . But you're not sure if you do?"

Her frown grew deeper. "I don't know. With everything that has happened, I never thought—" She broke off, her hands gripping the blanket.

"I have never met a man like Adam before. This is all new to me . . . Uncle Paul, I am so confused!"

"You have been through a lot, Madeline," Paul said, understanding and concern covering the regret he would always carry with him. "It is perfectly understandable that you need time . . ."

"I just don't know if I did the right thing." Her voice held a tiny quiver. "I feel like I am living in secret, nobody knows the truth except for you and . . . and with Adam, what if he—"

"Firstly, you had your reasons for doing things this way. You needed a fresh start, away from there. It was the only way we could accomplish that. Secondly, Adam is a very perceptive fellow, I'll agree, but he is no mind reader. He won't find out anything unless you tell him. And for the record, I know of no one more trustworthy . . ."

She tipped her chin down and when Paul took hold of her hands, he noted how cold they were.

"Madeline, this evening I saw you look happier than you have since you came here. I am under no illusion as to whom should receive the credit. It was also hard not to notice how that young man couldn't take his eyes off you." He smiled at the image of Adam's smitten face. "Enjoy your time with him now and do what your heart wants. Don't worry about the things you have not yet told him and when the time is right for you, trust that he will understand."

Madeline looked up and was faced with the steady reassurance in her uncle's unwavering eyes. Her brow slowly smoothed out.

"What would I do without you, Uncle Paul?"

"Heaven knows."

The dry remark made her smile, a real smile and she leaned forward to place a kiss on his cheek. He smiled back, then clapped her blanketed knee and rose from the settee.

"Since we are both so wide awake, I will be giving you a lesson in chess you won't soon forget."

As she leaned back against the pillows, she was transported back to the corral, to the feeling of Adam's strong chest pressing against her while Sport touched her hand.

Paul came over with the chess board and when he noticed that the dreamy expression was back on his niece's face, he knew that he'd already won the game.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi everyone! Sorry about the wait! I'm in the middle of exams so things have been busy (Naturally, I would much rather spend my time writing this story)_

 _I am truly so warmed by all your reviews... And to the Guests and Kathy— thank you so much._

 _It makes me very happy that you are liking the story so far. So, here is the next chapter, the day after the dinner party. I hope this one works and that you all enjoy it._

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 **July 31, 1865**

Ringing church bells could be heard all across Virginia City and beyond, calling people to morning prayer. The streets were fairly empty, as they usually were on Sundays, and many shops were closed for the duration of the service which was about to begin. The Cartwright family rode side by side, filling out the street and when the church came into their sights, they went straight to the hitching post by a couple of trees, just outside the building. They dismounted hurriedly, all of them looking over at the open church doors.

Joe pushed his hat up, throwing a hand out in the air. "Hey, looks like we're gonna make it. The doors haven't closed yet."

"We ain't gonna make it if you don't stop dawdlin' so get to tying that horse, shortshanks!"

"Don't you start yapping at _me_ ," Joe said, pointing a finger at Hoss, "it was _your_ horse that made us all late in the first place!"

"Aw Joe, old Chub can't help it that he threw a shoe, it sure ain't his fault . . ."

Seeing that their father was about to lose his temper, Adam stepped in between his bickering brothers.

"We're here now so let's just forget about _how_ we got here, okay?" He grabbed the reins from Joe's hand and tied Cochise to the hitching post. "Now, let's go."

Adam gently pushed his brothers' backs to get them moving, and Joe walked up next to Hoss, giving the big man a playful shove on the shoulder. Hoss was about to return the favor and with quite a bit more force, but when he saw the conciliatory smile on his younger sibling's face, he just grinned. Following behind them, Adam looked back at his father whose shoulders rose and fell, and Ben couldn't help but smile either.

The church was packed full of people and the Cartwrights made it inside just as the sermon was about to begin. They found a place to stand at the back, close by the big doors. Although they didn't attend church every Sunday, they'd all felt that it was the right time to go as a whole family again.

Joe stood in between his brothers and within a few seconds, he had spotted Maisy McCoy. She was sitting a few rows up and as if she'd sensed him watching her, she turned and gave a discreet wave when she saw him. Joe bowed his head charmingly, and as the Reverend began his address, the young man kept his eyes on Maisy's fiery hair and the glimpses of pale skin peeking out from underneath it.

Adam noted Joe's line of sight, but who was he to disapprove? He was scanning the rows himself, searching for Madeline's brown locks. Halfway through the Reverend's sermon, which turned out to be lost on two out of the four Cartwrights, Adam saw Paul on the second row and realized that Madeline must be next to him, probably in front of the irritatingly tall gentleman on the third row.

Even though he'd spent the whole previous evening with her, Adam could hardly wait to be with her again. Knowing that she was so close, yet still being unable to see her, was beyond frustrating.

After the final hymn had been sung and Rev. Brown had said some parting words, the Cartwright family went outside as soon as the doors opened to avoid getting caught up in the mass of people. Hoss headed for the blacksmith shop with Chub and Joe went off to have a little private time with Maisy who'd rushed out of the church to meet him.

Adam had gone back to the horses with his father and he was now staring intently at the people flooding out the doors. He was so concentrated on looking for Madeline, that he didn't even realize it when someone came straight up to him.

"Hello Adam, my pal. I thought this might be the best time to approach you. You know, after church and all, you're probably feeling pretty peaceful and calm right about now."

Adam managed a brief, unseeing glance at his friend.

"Oh . . . hi Dave . . . how are you?"

Pausing for a second, David Howell eyed the dark Cartwright, then turned a baffled look onto Ben.

"Well, you should take this one to church more often Ben. I was expecting a tongue-lashing at the very least after that article I wrote, and he's as mellow as a lamb."

"Yea . . . uh, you too, Dave," Adam mumbled, his legs suddenly moving, "excuse me . . ."

Ben chuckled at the journalist's obvious confusion when Adam left them and walked over to Doctor Martin and Madeline who had just emerged from the crowd and were moving away from all the commotion.

"Isn't that the doc's niece? What's her name . . . Miss Delaney, is it?"

"Yes. It sure is," Ben said to the curious writer.

"Hmmm. Pretty little thing."

"Yes, that she is."

The two men watched as Adam called to the doctor and Madeline and she spun around to him, her features lit up with delight. He said something funny, apparently, because she laughed, and one side of Paul's mouth curled up. The three talked for a minute or so until Paul pulled out his pocket-watch and spoke to Madeline. Almost immediately, Adam broke in and pointed to himself, holding out his other hand in a questioning gesture and Madeline's smile grew as she looked at her uncle expectantly. When Paul eventually nodded, the resignation on his face was palpable, even from a distance, and the young woman quickly took Adam's arm when he offered it to her.

Paul said something else to Adam, which he seemed to agree with, and then the doctor turned and walked briskly down the street. Adam led Madeline in the opposite direction, towards Ben and David.

As Ben observed them, it truly hit him what a striking couple they made—Adam in his Sunday suit and Madeline in a white dress with matching gloves, a black purse in her hand.

When they came over, Adam regarded David as if the writer had only just appeared.

"Dave, this is Miss Madeline Delaney, Doctor Martin's niece. Or have you two already met?"

"No, not formally." David took the gloved hand she held out to him. "Very pleased to meet you Miss Delaney."

"I am pleased to meet you too, Mr. Howell. I enjoy reading your articles very much," Madeline said, her eyes bright with sincerity.

She then turned to Ben with a wide smile. "Thank you again for such a wonderful evening yesterday, Ben. I am happy that I finally got to see the beauty of the Ponderosa in person."

"Your presence made the evening more pleasurable for everyone, Madeline." Ben patted her hand. "You are very welcome to visit us at the ranch, anytime."

After making a hum of agreement, Adam addressed his father.

"Pa, I'm going to help Madeline pick up some things from the general store. I'll follow you afterwards."

"All right, Hoss will probably be a while at the blacksmith too. I'll see you back home later then."

Madeline dipped her head in farewell at the two men, and she and Adam strolled down the street, walking closely next to each other.

Following them with his eyes, David folded his hands behind his back.

"Well . . . that explains a lot. Or rather, _she_ does."

Ben made no comment but the joy he felt was clearly displayed on his face for everyone to see. There were many changes happening with his firstborn, and this one was definitely for the better.

xXXx

"It is very nice of you to accompany me," Madeline said as they walked along the boardwalk, "I need quite a few items and I think Uncle Paul was a little pressed for time."

"Really, it's no problem. I know how busy his work keeps him, even on a Sunday. I'm more than happy to help out with anything you might need, Madeline. Just let me know."

"Thank you, Adam . . ."

There was a note of mild surprise in her voice and when Adam faced her, he saw that she was studying him. He was actually surprised himself, but not at the fact that he'd offered her his help. He was taken aback though, over how _much_ he wanted to help her—with any little thing—and how he _wanted_ to be the one she would ask if she needed something. She kept gazing at him like she was trying to work something out, then the faint beginnings of a smile started to form on her lips and she turned back to the street ahead.

They continued down the boardwalk and their conversation flowed easily as it had done the evening before. Neither of them said it out loud, but they were both aware of the strange connection that seemed to be between them; like an invisible force growing stronger with each time they met, pulling them towards each other.

Talking with Madeline was unpretentious and natural and Adam had realized the previous evening that she was knowledgeable on a wide variety of topics. For instance, when talk had turned to the country's political situation, the McCoy sisters had quite unsuccessfully tried to hide their boredom while Madeline had joined in the discussion with the men, adding her own insight and opinions—all of which Adam happened to agree with. It had been accepted by everyone at the table, although it was by no means common for a woman to engage in political talk the way she had done.

Adam had been pleased to learn that Madeline was a woman with clear ideas about what she felt was wrong and right and she wasn't afraid to share her views. How she balanced that trait with her very delicate and lady-like character was one of the things that he just couldn't fathom about her, and also one of the very things that intrigued him so.

Additionally, he'd discovered that despite their very different backgrounds, he and Madeline had a few mutual interests and she even owned some of the same books as he did.

As they walked to the general store, he noticed that people were watching them and he started to worry about the gossip that would soon be spreading across town like wildfire. Not that he cared about it himself, but he didn't know how Madeline would take it and the last thing he wanted was for her to be uncomfortable. Still, the worry didn't outweigh the pleasure and pride he felt at having this amazing woman on his arm and he shut out the nosy citizens, turning his full attention onto her thoughts on Rev. Brown's sermon.

When they got to the store, he held the door open for her and followed her inside. There were a few other customers in the shop. Three ladies in their late thirties stood chatting together near the counter, fanning themselves with white handkerchiefs, and a group of men were conversing by the doorway leading to the second room of the shop.

Adam was acquainted with most of them and they all offered courteous greetings when he came in. He nodded back at them all, but caught onto the subtle change in Madeline's mood and she suddenly seemed uneasy. The three women made a couple of remarks directed at him in a clear attempt to draw him into a conversation, and he didn't miss how their sharp gazes rolled up and down Madeline standing next to him.

While his face remained polite, his demeanor became quietly unapproachable and he faced away from them, half-smiling down at Madeline instead. Briefly, her eyes flickered warily from him to the women, but then she anchored her attention to the black purse in her hands and got out the list with the items that she needed to buy.

The storekeeper came out from the backroom and stood at the counter and Madeline stayed back to see if anyone was waiting to be served. When nobody else moved, she stepped forward, the list ready in her hand. It was as if the most outspoken of the three women had waited and timed her own approach, so she and Madeline both ended up standing in front of the counter at the exact same time. What followed was a very awkward moment where the older woman directed a chilly stare down at Madeline, her pointy nose tipped up in the air, her two friends smirking behind her. The storekeeper's head flew from side to side as he stood in between the two women, a slow crimson climbing up his neck.

After a couple of stunned seconds, Madeline shifted her focus to the flustered man and smiled kindly at him, putting the list back in her purse.

"Perhaps you should serve this lady first, Mr. Baxter. I can wait, I am in no hurry."

"Uh . . . yes, yes all right, Ma'am."

Without sparing so much as a glance at the provocative woman, Madeline calmly turned and strode right past the other two ladies and the now silent men, her posture straight and dignified.

Adam waited until she had disappeared into the other room and then let his polite mask slip. His expression was one of cool indifference but his eyes revealed a glint of fierce intensity as he gave the whispering women a long, hard look. Their murmuring stopped at once and the three white handkerchiefs hung limply from their hands. Having witnessed everything, the group of men had no sympathy whatsoever for the ladies who'd just encountered the renowned glare of the most intimidating Cartwright family member.

Turning his back on the speechless women, Adam went into the other room to look for Madeline.

She was standing by some shelves with pots and pans, her side turned to him. As he approached her, he saw that she drew in a breath before facing him and she spoke before he had a chance to say anything.

"I just remembered, Uncle Paul mentioned that he would like a proper tray for making biscuits. He . . ." She hesitated, averting her eyes. "He wants to attempt a turkey recipe like Hop Sing's."

Adam didn't reply. He just stood there, drinking in the sight of her looking graceful as a dove in her white dress, and he knew that her beauty was as rare as her inner strength. At that instant, he was almost overwhelmed by all the things he wanted to say to her. She was the most amazing woman he'd ever met, and he wanted her to know it, so badly.

"Would you help me look for one? A biscuit tray?" she asked, still not meeting his gaze.

She had definitely gotten to him, there was no running from it. But it wasn't the right time to tell her.

"Of course, I will," he said instead, reaching up to touch one of the shelves. " _Obviously_ , Paul should own a biscuit tray."

The corners of his mouth quirked up as he waited and she finally looked at him.

"Yes," she said, her features softening. "He certainly should."

They began searching for a tray and Madeline gradually relaxed again, but Adam sensed that she was still a little distracted.

A few minutes later, they heard shoes clattering along the floorboards in the other room and muffled voices becoming fainter, followed by the sound of the front door opening and closing. Shortly after, a very apologetic-looking Mr. Baxter appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on his apron.

"I'm ready now Miss Delaney, whenever you are."

"All right, I will be right there, Mr. Baxter."

Adam glanced up from the book he was leafing through and saw Madeline pick up the biscuit tray they'd found.

"You can stay here and look through the books, Adam," she said, "I'll just give Mr. Baxter the list, it will probably take a while for him to get everything together."

"Okay, I'll wait here then."

He watched her walk to the doorway but just before she disappeared through it, he noticed her look over at some green fabric displayed on a table.

xXXx

Madeline came into the main room which was now empty except for Mr. Baxter and herself and she placed the biscuit tray on the counter.

"I'd like to purchase this tray and I also need these items," she said, pulling the list from her purse and handing it to the storekeeper.

Mr. Baxter skimmed the paper.

"Yes Ma'am. I'll have these supplies ready for you in a few minutes. The doc isn't with you today, Miss?"

"No, he had some patients he needed to see and Mr. Cartwright was kind enough to accompany me." Madeline's tone suddenly became concerned. "Is your wife not feeling better, Mr. Baxter? Did you need the doctor to see her again?"

"Oh no no, not at all," he said, waving his hand, "she's doing really well now. That medicine the doc gave her helped a lot with her cough. She'll be up and about in no time."

"I am very happy to hear that." Madeline smiled at him "Please give her my regards when you see her."

"I will, Ma'am, she'll be mighty glad to hear from you. She usually doesn't handle doctors all that well, but your presence made her much more comfortable."

"Well, I am glad that I could be of some help."

"You really did help, Miss," he said with emphasis. Then he looked at the list again. "Well, you can continue looking around while I see to this. It shouldn't take too long."

"Thank you very much."

The storekeeper started getting the supplies ready and Madeline went back into the other room.

When she crossed the threshold of the doorway, Adam was standing over by the sewing materials, scrutinizing the emerald green fabric on the table. She paused, watching him.

Adam knew she was there and he inspected the cloth, trying to look like he actually had an idea about what he was doing.

"I was just thinking," he said, his eyes lifting to meet hers, "I bet this would make a fine dress . . ."

Madeline contained a smile and walked over to him, touching her chin with a fingertip.

"Oh, really?"

"Yea, take a look."

He gestured to the table and she peered down at the green silk that she had admired the last three times she'd been to the store.

"Hmm yes . . . I believe you are right." She looked up at him. "You surprise me Adam, I didn't know you had an interest in such things. What did you have in mind?"

Her face was the picture of innocent curiosity, but there was a gleam of mirth in her eyes—one she did very little to hide. Unfazed, Adam smiled and cocked his head to the side.

"Why don't you tell me _your_ ideas first and I'll see if they resemble mine."

"Well . . . I think an evening gown," she said thoughtfully, brushing her fingers along the smooth silk. "The decoration should be subtle to enhance the elegance of the material. A gathered skirt with drapery and pleating along the sides . . . perhaps some gold embroidery in floral patterns along the bodice. Short, puffed sleeves with engageantes and an off-the-shoulder neckline."

Adam listened as the picture she was imagining slowly faded away and she faced him questioningly.

"Yea, exactly what I was thinking."

She laughed at the blatant lie and he stepped closer to her.

"Since we both have such a clear vision of what this material should be used for, I'd like to buy it for you."

Madeline quickly pulled her hand away from the fabric and turned to him, startled.

"Oh no Adam, it is far too expensive!"

"No, it isn't. Besides, now I want to see this creation you just described. Consider it a gift from me."

"I cannot possibly accept it . . . and I am not at all qualified to work with such fine silk."

"Madeline, you are very talented, that dress you wore yesterday was . . .incredible."

The memory of her in that lavender dress, standing so close to him by the corral suddenly sent a surge of heat through his body. When he realized that he still hadn't convinced her to take his present, he sighed dramatically.

"Oh, all right then. Repay me with a picnic."

"I . . . excuse me?"

"Next week—you can choose a day. I'll come by to pick you up and you prepare a picnic for us. We'll take a ride out to the Ponderosa."

She stared at him, her lips slightly parted and a tiny furrow marking her brow. Finally, her expression smoothed out and she levelled her sight with the black tie around his collar.

"A picnic is hardly sufficient repayment for such a gift . . ."

"It's more than enough for me."

Seeing that he'd won, Adam gathered up the folded cloth and held it under his arm when her hesitant voice addressed him.

"Adam? Thank you . . ."

The way she looked at him then was all the repayment he could ever need.

"It's my pleasure, Madeline."

When they went back into the main room, Mr. Baxter had all the supplies ready. Madeline paid for the items and Adam bought the green silk which caused the man behind the counter to grin a little. Mr Baxter had packed the supplies in a big basket and told Madeline that she could return it whenever it was convenient. She thanked him and Adam took the basket in one hand and held the biscuit tray under his other arm while she carried the silk, which had been wrapped neatly.

The two enjoyed the walk back to the doctor's house and after Adam had carried things inside for her, Madeline followed him out onto the porch.

"I don't think my Uncle will need me very much on Tuesday. I should be free at noon, if it fits with you?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'll be here at twelve o'clock then."

Madeline nodded and a flash of excitement crossed her face.

"Thank you for all your help today, I appreciate it very much."

"Well, I won't lie, it wasn't exactly a purely selfless act." Adam crossed his arms, inclining his head at her. "Who would pass up the chance to walk down the street in your lovely company?"

She gave him a toothy smile and her lashes swept down for a moment.

"You are quite the charmer, Sir . . ."

"You are quite a lady, Ma'am."

He placed one foot down onto the top step of the porch stairs, needing to leave, yet wanting to stay.

"Until Tuesday then."

"Yes, until Tuesday."

With a last smile and a tip of his hat, he walked down the stairs and strode up the street towards the church.

Well aware that she couldn't just stand there and watch him go, Madeline went back inside the house. She walked into the kitchen and undid the string around the brown package lying on the table. Stroking the green silk, she smiled, her mind turning to the man who was stealing her heart so quickly.

xXXx

When Adam had collected Sport at the church, he rode down to the blacksmith and saw Hoss and Joe standing outside with their horses. They waved as soon as they saw him and he pulled up next to them.

"Did you get everything sorted out?"

"Hi Adam!" Hoss shaded his eyes with a hand to look up at him. "Yup old Chubby here's as good as new."

"All right, you two ready to go home then?"

"Hey now older brother, we aren't exactly in a hurry, are we?"

Adam cast a skeptical look down onto Joe who winked up at him.

" _Little brother_ , it's barely past noon."

"But Adam, Sam is probably getting real upset that you haven't been in to visit him yet. Besides, we have to celebrate! One little beer . . ."

The mounted sibling released a long-suffering sigh.

"And just what are we supposed to be celebrating?"

"Oh, you know . . . it's a beautiful day . . . Chub's new shoe . . . come on Adam, even Rev. Brown said something about this being a time for celebration!"

"Joe, I doubt that he meant—" Adam cut himself off and rolled his eyes. "Oh, get on your horses, will you? I'm getting thirsty just listening to your babbling."

Joe practically bounced off the ground and into the saddle and Hoss mounted up with a gap-toothed grin. Adam couldn't even pretend to be annoyed with his brothers, he was in too good a mood.

They rode to the Bucket of Blood, which was fairly empty at that time, and Sam was happy but visibly surprised to see them. He poured Adam a free beer just like he'd promised that day at the fair, and Hoss reminded Joe that it was his turn to pay for their drinks.

They had a good time and Sam entertained them with stories about what had been transpiring in town for the last week. Adam was pretty sure that most of the bartender's anecdotes were rather exaggerated, but they made him chuckle anyway and his brothers laughed until they were both dizzy and red-faced. At one point, when Sam was busy serving drinks, Joe and Adam turned towards Hoss when they noticed him grunting and grimacing while he pulled at his black tie to get it loose. Seeing their questioning looks, he just grumbled that whoever invented the "dadblasted silly piece of string", obviously hadn't ever chugged down a beer while wearing one. His annoyed expression combined with the way he glared down at the tie past his jutting chin, left Adam and Joe hanging onto the bar as they shook with laughter.

It was much later than any of them anticipated when the three brothers finally headed back to the Ponderosa. Adam's head was buzzing a bit. He hadn't had a whole lot to drink but he was no longer used to beer or to drinking more than just one glass of something at a time. During the four years at war, he'd practically avoided alcohol completely, feeling that as an officer he needed his wits about him at all times and that he should set a good example for his men.

It was safe to say that he was a little out of practice.

Joe was clearly the most affected out of the three and he was swaying in the saddle, giggling at random things they rode past along the trail. The two older brothers stayed on either side of him, making sure he didn't topple off his horse and come home with a broken leg as well.

When they rode into the yard, it was late afternoon and Adam held onto his giggly sibling's arm, shushing him, while Hoss reached up to help Joe down. Adam dismounted a little unsteadily and went over to stand in front of Joe, wanting to make him look more presentable. He was trying to tame the younger man's chaotic hair—while telling him to pull himself together—when someone spoke from behind them.

"Well, it's about time you three came home."

The displeased tone only had its usual effect on Hoss who gulped and scrunched up his face. Adam just felt warm and woozy while Joe was a lost cause. When they turned around, Ben took in the sight of his three sons and it was suddenly very difficult for the father to maintain his stern demeanor. Adam straightened and elbowed Joe's slouching form.

"Sorry we're late, Pa. We uh . . . stopped by the Bucket of Blood on the way home."

"Aha." Ben dragged his gaze over the three men before settling on Adam. "Tell me, is the saloon still in business or did your brother drink up everything Sam had?"

Joe let out a cackle pitched so high that birds flew from the nearby trees.

The dark eyebrows on Ben's forehead lowered and Hoss glanced nervously at Adam who stood tall and expressionless.

"Well. You better get him inside and straight to bed. I doubt he'll want any supper, might as well let him sleep it off."

"Yes Sir," Hoss said and spun around, grabbing Joe. He hastened to the porch with his little brother hanging on his arm like a rag doll.

Adam stood completely still in true military fashion, feeling that he hadn't yet been dismissed. The tightness in Ben's expression eased and he laid a hand on his eldest's shoulder, gently turning him in the direction of the house as they started walking.

"Did you have a good time, son?"

"Yea, we did. I've missed those two scamps. I hope they know that."

Surprised at his son's honest words, Ben shot a sideways look at him. The slight flush on Adam's face, brought Ben to the conclusion that the alcohol had probably caused his sudden openness.

"They know, Adam," Ben said simply as they stepped onto the porch and went inside the house.

xXXx

The rest of the evening was quiet and subdued without Joe. The young man had been put to bed without even getting changed into his bedclothes.

Adam left half a plate of his supper, much to Hop Sing's dismay, while Hoss ate his usual three helpings with vigor. Afterwards, when they were sat together around the fireplace, Adam's head fell back against the chair as he let out a deep breath—a sigh of pure content. The sound made Ben and Hoss look up from their cribbage game, and no words were needed between them. The smiles adorning their faces said it all.

That night, Adam lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He'd been in to check on Joe on his way up, making sure that a bucket was by the bed in case it was needed during the night. Even after four years of being a fairly strict army captain, his older brother instincts were as strong as ever. Afterwards, he'd gone to his own room and attempted to read, but however much he had stared at the words on the page, they made no sense to him for some reason. In the end, he'd given up when he felt a headache coming on.

Now he'd been lying like this for almost an hour, still fully dressed.

He'd had such a good day. The first whole day he could remember where he'd hardly thought about the war. But now it was as if a blanket of dread had fallen across him and a lump had formed in his throat, restricting his air supply. He almost couldn't bear the thought of going to sleep and encountering the nightmares—the pain and the suffering—he knew was waiting for him. The alcohol's effect had worn off and now the reality of how troubled his mind still was, hit him hard.

Normally, he was prepared for what awaited him in the nights because most of those images and memories were somewhere in his awareness during the day anyway. Only, today had been different. He'd had a proper break from it all and that made everything so much harder now.

He tried thinking about Madeline and the picnic he would be taking her on in just two days. But cruel visions of maimed bodies lying in the grass around the picnic blanket made his throat burn with nausea. To escape them, he abruptly sat up and swung his legs across the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the floor. He pressed both hands against his temples in a useless attempt to stop the thoughts charging around in his head. Everything was so loud. He pressed harder, but the building pain couldn't silence the oppressive noise.

He knew he must be really out of it when he caught himself actually considering waking up his Pa. It was a fleeting idea, but still, it had been there.

How many times had he sat by one of his men during the night when the horrors of their own minds got the better of them? So many he'd lost count. And he'd seen them go to each other when it was needed, he even encouraged it. But he'd never asked for it or accepted it for himself. He was their captain and he was supposed to be the one they could count on—the person who at least had some measure of control in the chaos around them.

The one they could trust never to crumble.

The thought struck him that he wasn't a captain anymore and he couldn't come up with a sound reason as to why he _shouldn't_ wake up his father, especially when he knew that his Pa would absolutely want him to.

It was just something he physically couldn't bring himself to do.

He sprang up from the bed and began pacing aggressively, unable to understand why he was reacting this way. It seemed to go on forever; he kept moving back and forth, his heart hammering in his chest, feeling like a personal hurricane was about to break out inside him. About to rip him apart for good.

And then, his eyes landed on the dresser. His whole body froze and he looked away. At the walls, at the floor—he looked at anything and everything else in the room. But his gaze drifted back to where he didn't want it.

He wasn't really aware of how it happened, but it did and suddenly he was over there, standing in front of the dresser. Cautiously, he opened the top drawer where the little brown bottle lay and he picked it up, trying to focus on the unopened flask of laudanum as he held it.

A wave of self-disgust rose within him when he realized that his hand was shaking. Before he could change his mind, he ripped the cork lid off and took a long, deep swig of the drink, pressing his eyelids together, grimacing at the taste. When he opened his blurring eyes, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror and immediately turned away from it.

Staggering towards the bed, he practically dropped down onto it, already feeling his head growing heavy. He didn't know whether he was just tired or if the tincture was already working. He didn't care either.

As he fell back onto the mattress and began to drift off, the panicked state he'd been in disappeared and left only a deep sadness behind.

From the moment he became a soldier, his biggest fear had not been of death or injury. It had been of bringing shame to himself and acting cowardly. Up until now, he'd endured the tormenting nights, believing that it was to be his punishment for the part he'd played in the war—for the lives lost under his command and the ones taken by his own hand.

The last conscious thought he had before he fell into a deep sleep, was that tonight, he'd taken a coward's way out.


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Notes_

 _I tried to get this chapter up a little quicker since we had a sad ending to chapter 8. Here comes a mostly lighthearted chapter and one, I suspect, that some of you have been waiting for..._

 _Thank you again to the "Guests" and those of you I can't reply to. All of your reviews are wonderful to read._

 _P.S. My aim is to be as historically accurate as possible throughout this story and I'm glad that it's working out so far._

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

"Here ya go, shortshanks, rinse your mouth out with this."

Squinting through his lashes, Joe could just make out the shape of a glass floating in the air in front of his face. He tried to take the item, but his hand was pushed away and suddenly the rim of the glass was pressed against his lips. He drank eagerly and worked the cool water around his mouth, soothing the acid taste on his tongue. Seeing the bucket reappear in front of him, he spat the water into it.

"Sure you're done this time? I ain't doin' no more cleanin' up in here today."

Hoss helped his brother lie back against the pillows on the bed.

"Hoss . . . what happened?"

"You decided to drown yurself in beer at the Bucket o' Blood, that's what happened."

"Ooohh . . ." Joe moaned and rubbed a hand across his eyes. "Could you just keep your voice down?"

The big man looked down at his spectacularly hungover brother.

"Sorry, shortshanks. You got fresh water on the table next to ya. I better go down and tell Pa you're half-conscious again."

"Pa!"

With a jerky motion, Joe sat up and the green tinge instantly came back to his face.

"Take it easy, Joe," Hoss said, pushing him back down on the bed. "Pa ain't all that mad. Ol' Adam got him calmed down some yesterday, I reckon. While I was tucking you into bed like a little babe."

Joe paid no attention to the teasing last part of the sentence and instead looked towards the open door of his room.

"Where is Adam?"

The playfulness gone from his eyes, Hoss slowly lowered himself to perch on the side of Joe's bed.

"He rode out real early. Said he was gonna do some fence mendin' in the south section. He had _the look_ in his eyes . . . you know, when he wants to be alone. Wouldn't let me go with 'im."

"Oh."

The room became quiet and Joe started to fiddle with the edge of his blanket.

"We sure had fun yesterday, didn't we, Hoss? I mean with Adam. Just the three of us again . . ."

"Yea, we did. I think that's why Pa ain't mad at us, not really." Hoss' expression lightened with the easy smile that never strayed far from his face. "It feels nice bein' together just the three of us again, don't it?"

"Yea," Joe replied without looking up. "I really missed him, you know."

With that childlike hesitance and youthful look, Joe almost seemed like a little boy again and Hoss had never known anyone who could tug at his heartstrings the way his little brother could.

"Me too, Joe. I know he missed us too. He even did your barn chores for ya before he left."

Closing his eyes, Joe tipped his head back against the pillows.

"I really don't think I could have faced doing barn chores today."

"Well, how about facin' a bite to eat, hmm? You must be powerful hungry, you ain't got nothin' more left in you!"

Joe forced the new surge of bile back down his throat and turned to Hoss with a pathetic expression.

"Maybe later."

"Okay but Hop Sing ain't gonna be happy with ya. Well, I gotta get to work." Hoss stood from the bed. "I'm staying around the house today, so just holler if'n ya need something."

Picking up the bucket by the bed, Hoss went to the door and then stopped. He looked over his shoulder with a slight wince.

"Pa asked me to tell him when ya woke up. He'll be up in a minute, I guess . . ."

Joe's throat bobbed as he gulped. He lay back on the bed in acceptance and listened to his brother walking down the hall, awaiting the sound of his father's approach.

xXXx

The sky had taken on hues of red and orange when Adam finally came home. Ben and his other sons were sitting by the fireplace and over the last two hours, each of them had thrown at least a dozen glances at the big grandfather clock. Hop Sing had been keeping their supper warm for quite a while and he'd just come out of the kitchen to complain yet again about the food drying out, when there was a metallic clicking noise from the front door. Adam had barely taken a step inside the house before he was rushed by a stream of Cantonese and he froze where he stood. While neither he or his family understood the words, Hop Sing's tone clearly stated his dissatisfaction. Holding up his hands, Adam apologized for his delay, placating the cook and Hop Sing disappeared off to the kitchen, mumbling to himself all the way.

Ben was glad to have his eldest home and he couldn't keep the relief from showing on his face. When he had gotten up that morning, Adam had already left, and he was a little worried about his son's mood. As he watched the young man take off his hat and gun belt, Ben picked up on the weariness in his movements and the way his mind seemed to be elsewhere still. He also noticed Hoss and Joe peeking over at their brother as they silently rose from their seats to go to the table. Ben joined them, deciding to give his oldest son a little space, but a frown had etched itself into his features.

When Adam came and sat down with them, he briefly described the work he'd done in the south section and although Ben tried to act like he was pleased to hear that all the busted fences had been mended in the area, the lines dug deeper into his forehead. That particular job, was one he'd expected would take two or three men and more than one working day. He didn't like to think about how hard Adam must have pushed himself to get it done.

Barely two words were said while the family ate their supper and Ben knew that his three sons were being quiet for very different reasons. Adam seemed far away in his thoughts, and Hoss was too busy enjoying Hop Sing's roast beef to talk. And then, of course, there was Joe. Ben peered over at his youngest, who was piercing the same green pea full of holes with his fork. Joe still looked pitiful and after delivering an impassioned lecture to the boy earlier, Ben had softened and given in to a little fatherly fussing. When he noticed that Joe's face was turning the color of the mutilated pea, he touched his arm and told him that he could leave the table. With a muted nod, Joe laid his napkin by his virtually untouched plate. When he got up and slowly headed for the stairs, Hoss grabbed his plate and tucked in, which didn't evoke so much as a raised eyebrow from his family.

After another few minutes of silence around the table, Ben spoke up.

"Well, Adam, since you finished the fence-mending in the south section today, I guess we can start on the east section tomorrow."

Adam faced his father and carefully swallowed a bite of potato.

"Actually Pa . . . I uh, was hoping to take a day off tomorrow. At least from around ten o'clock."

Sensing the uncertain tone in his brother's voice, Hoss looked up from Joe's plate.

"I see," Ben said, setting down his cutlery. "You have plans, I take it?"

"Yea I, well . . . I'm taking Madeline out for a picnic. We'll probably go to Silver Creek. I was gonna take the surrey."

While Ben discreetly wiped off his smile with a checkered napkin, Hoss smacked his fist down on the table and exclaimed, "I'll be dadburned!" The table-wear shook and he continued, "Joe bet two dollars on you askin' that little gal out here within this week and I bet on the next. You're a fast worker, that's for sure."

Adam had only just managed to save his fork from flying onto the floor at his big brother's outburst and he turned back to their father as if nothing had happened.

"You mind, Pa?"

"No, of course not, take the day and have fun," Ben said with a little chuckle.

"I reckon it'll cheer shortshanks up when he finds out he actually won a bet for once."

With a wide grin, Hoss stood from the table, leaving two cleaned plates behind.

The two remaining Cartwrights continued eating their supper.

"You know, Adam," Ben said after awhile, "you didn't have to get up at an ungodly hour and work until this evening just to have a day off tomorrow."

"That wasn't the only reason." Adam's voice was low, his tone hesitant. " I just . . . needed to."

Ben stopped eating and a sense of trepidation settled over him when his son wouldn't meet his gaze. He realized that his gut feeling had been correct and that Adam must have had a rough day and probably night. He asked nothing, he only regarded his boy with sympathy and affection. Things were improving, but there was no hiding the fact that Adam still had a long way to go.

* * *

Madeline stood in the foyer and readjusted the flower on top of her wide-brimmed straw hat. She tied the rose-colored ribbon under her chin and took a step back from the long mirror on the wall. Adam would be here any moment and she was convinced she'd forgotten something. . . something important. Her whirling thoughts drifted down the hall to the kitchen where the picnic basket stood, and she went through its contents in her mind _._

 _Sandwiches, plates, napkins, lemonade . . . everything is ready!_

Watching her reflection, she carefully smoothed down the front of her simple, pink skirt and rearranged the brown curls by her ears. The morning had flown by and now that it was only a couple of minutes to twelve o'clock, her stomach was acting like there were a hundred butterflies inside of her. The prospect of spending a whole afternoon alone with Adam was as exciting as it was unnerving, and when her fingers started fidgeting with the hem of her white blouse, she closed her eyes and forced herself to take a deep breath. The effort was pretty much wasted though because at that moment she heard horses pull up outside and her heart seemed to leap into her throat. She chanced a peek out of the window by the front door which stood ajar and saw Adam jump down from the surrey as her uncle called out to him from the porch. Facing the mirror again, she stared into her own eyes, willing herself to calm down. Then she went down the hall to get the picnic basket, her gait brisk and purposeful.

Paul was reclining in the white porch swing, one foot pushing it back and forth in a slow rhythm as he watched his friend come up the stairs.

"Well, at least you are punctual, Adam."

"What's the matter, Paul?" Adam crossed his arms and leaned against the porch railing. "Business a little slow when my brothers stay out of trouble?"

"Oh, how witty you are, my boy. Actually, I suspect that Widow Franklin forgot her appointment again, so I was just enjoying the pleasant weather before my next patient arrives."

"Well, that's probably a good thing, doc." Adam nodded in understanding. "A man gets to a certain age, he's gotta start fitting in breaks whenever he can."

Paul scoffed. "Remarks like _that_ certainly won't improve my opinion of you!"

He feigned an appalled expression and then sensed tentative steps approaching from the front door behind him.

"Hello, Adam . . ."

The doctor watched in incredulous hilarity as the cheeky smirk vanished from Adam's face and the young man quickly straightened up, donning his most polite smile and gentlemanly air.

"Hi, Madeline . . ."

For a few seconds, Adam seemed unable to do anything other than gawk at Madeline's radiant appearance and then Paul actually had to cough to cover up his laugh when the dark Cartwright swiftly stepped forward, offering to take the picnic hamper she was holding.

"Madeline, dear, it's a good thing you showed up just now," Paul said, gesturing to Adam. "I was about to ask Adam about his intentions with you."

"Oh, Uncle Paul!"

Madeline blushed deeply, but Adam was too preoccupied with her loveliness to give the doctor's jibe any real attention.

"Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," she replied with a small smile.

The two headed down the stairs and Paul rose from the porch swing, looking on as Adam placed the hamper in the surrey and then helped Madeline up. He went around to the other side of the wagon and when he jumped up and took his seat, the doctor raised his voice.

"I expect you to have her home at a decent hour, Adam!"

"Uncle, you _must_ stop!"

Madeline's tone was urgent, and her eyes darted to her left, then right. She needn't have worried though—Paul had already checked and made sure that no one was within ear's reach. Adam chuckled and gave his friend a little wave while she just shook her head. A flick of the reins set the horses in motion and the surrey disappeared down the street. The smile faded from the doctor's face and his hand came up to scratch his scalp through his thinning hair as he returned to the swing. It would certainly take him some getting used to, sharing his niece with another man.

xXXx

The ride out of Virginia City was anything but pleasant. Madeline was very aware of the gaping and whispering going on around them and she couldn't help but wonder if it was all to do with her, or whether it went on simply because she was in the company of Adam Cartwright. Apparently, he'd noticed her discomfort because he turned his head and smiled reassuringly at her. When they finally left the last building behind and trailed down the dusty road, she grew visibly calmer without the prying eyes of the town on her.

However, her nervousness was still there, distracting her from the conversation he was trying so valiantly to strike up. The more she tried to relax, the worse it got. Her frustration with herself was building as the reasons for her unease appeared to pile up in her mind, making the little excursion seem even more daunting.

For one thing, it had been years since she'd gone alone on a social outing of this nature with a man. Aside from that, she was worried that Adam might ask her about her life in Georgia and that she would feel pressured to tell him what she still wasn't ready to speak about. All he really knew, was that both her parents had died of sudden illnesses and he'd probably heard that from his own family because her uncle had told them. Part of her wondered why he _hadn't_ asked any questions about her past yet . . .

The third thing that added to her already jittering nerves, was that the man beside her was unlike anyone she'd ever met and just being in his presence made her feel all kinds of unsteady in a frightening, yet completely thrilling way.

"I'm sorry if you felt uncomfortable back there . . ."

His concerned voice filtered through her rioting thoughts and she realized that he'd given up on attempting the casual small talk.

 _Splendid, Madeline . . . Well done._

"That's all right. It probably wasn't as bad as I think it was." She turned to him, but her gaze rested somewhere just below his eyes. "I feel that my accompanying you was rather unpopular with the women of Virginia City."

"The women? Actually, I only noticed the envious stares from all the men." He gave her a crooked smile. "Not that I blame them."

His words had the desired effect when her lips curved a little.

"It does not bother you? People discussing you, observing you that way?"

He shrugged and looked back at the road.

"I suppose it's always been like that with my family, for my brothers too. Kinda comes with the territory. It's worse now though, since I got back."

His eyes pinched at the corners and his lips became a tight line. She knew that he was thinking about the buzz his sharpshooting display had caused. Although the event still intrigued her, she wouldn't bring it up just now, knowing what his reaction would be.

Suddenly, his expression changed, and a devilish gleam appeared in his eyes instead.

"Well, now the Women's Social Club will be kept entertained at least. I know exactly what will be said."

"Oh, and what is that?"

Madeline watched as he drew back his shoulders and tipped his nose upward, pitching his naturally deep voice into something resembling a sudden falsetto.

"There goes Adam Cartwright, the rascal! Leading that respectable, little Miss Delaney astray. We must pray for them both!"

She was completely stunned by his demonstration—so far from anything she would have expected from him—and then an inevitable, pearly laughter escaped her mouth.

"Adam! That is hardly polite to Mrs. Stewart."

He seemed to find it incredibly funny that she immediately knew whom he had imitated, but he made an effort to control himself.

"You are right of course, Miss." He dropped his head in a weak attempt at looking remorseful. "I apologize for my lack of tact."

"I will accept your apology on her behalf." Madeline turned to the road ahead. "I also suggest that you work on your pitch. It isn't quite high enough."

This time, he turned a wide-eyed look onto her and they simultaneously started laughing as the wagon continued on its rumbling way.

After that, Madeline truly relaxed and stopped overthinking the situation, focusing instead on the only thing that mattered—Adam's company and how much she enjoyed it. When they crossed the borders of the Ponderosa, she began observing him out of the corner of her eye. His black shirtsleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows, revealing his tanned skin and strong forearms which were proof of the countless hours he'd spent working in the sun. Her gaze lifted as she took in his profile and strong jawline. He wasn't the clean-shaven and finely dressed Adam she'd gotten used to seeing. Today, he was dressed all in black, just like she'd seen him twice before and there were the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow covering his cheek and chin. Looking at him now, she instinctively knew that he was in his element, and she still found him devastatingly good-looking, perhaps even a little more so for that reason. Not wanting to push her luck, she turned away and surveyed the impressive scenery instead, thinking it was quite a miracle that he hadn't caught her watching him.

Adam began pointing out areas and special landmarks to her, explaining their history and significance. She listened in fascination, almost unable to believe that all this magnificent land belonged to him and his family. Her delight was evident when the surrey turned off the road and entered a meadow sprinkled with wildflowers. Splashes of blue and lilac dotted the sea of dark green and the meadow was rimmed by majestic pine trees, which provided shade and gave the area a sense of seclusion. It was as if they'd driven off the trail and entered a little private world on the Ponderosa.

Adam pulled up the horses at the opposite end of the meadow, just by a creek, and Madeline was awed by the view. The free-flowing water was clear as the air above it and speckled in the stream, were rough grey rocks which looked almost silvery as they glistened in the sun. At the left end of the creek, was a sloping rock-face where a liquid staircase of waterfalls ran down its middle.

"This place is breathtaking!"

She turned to Adam, her face alight with exhilaration and he was clearly pleased by her reaction.

"We call it Silver Creek because of the color of the rocks." He pointed to the other side of the stream, a little further down the bank. "I used to take my brothers fishing over there a lot when we were kids."

Madeline followed his finger's direction and smiled, trying to picture the handsome boy he must have been. He jumped off the surrey and came around to the other side to help her down, his hands lingering around her waist for a moment when she touched the ground. He took the picnic hamper and she held the wool blanket against her front as they headed over to a massive oak standing on the grassy bank. After putting down the blanket, she absentmindedly began undoing the ribbon bow under her chin as she looked out across the water. Removing the straw hat, she turned around and saw that he was watching her with an absorbed expression. She tilted her head to the side in question, her rosy lips quirking, and his eyes shot to hers. The bashful look that suddenly seized his face was one she thought utterly adorable.

"I, uh . . . I'll just see to the horses . . ."

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder and as he fled to the surrey, she recognized that what she'd just seen was probably the closest Adam Cartwright came to blushing. She wondered what he'd been thinking . . .

When he came back over a couple of minutes later, she'd spread out the blanket next to the wide tree trunk and she was sitting on her knees, her skirt laying in pink waves around her.

"I hope you are hungry?"

"Starving," he said and dropped down next to her while she took the items out of the basket. "I worked around the house most of the morning and didn't have a full breakfast."

She handed him a bottle of lemonade with two glasses and he poured the drinks while she laid the different sandwiches out on a platter.

"I made a variety, I wasn't sure what you'd prefer."

Adam eyed the big assortment of snacks appreciatively.

"It all looks really good. If Hoss could see this feast . . . he probably would have cleaned out the whole plate before I even got a bite."

"Well, I made an extra batch of turnovers and left them at home. I thought maybe you could take them back to your family later." She rummaged through the hamper. "I have some snacks for Sport too, I am sure he can share with his friend."

She glanced over and noticed that Sport was untied and without a bridle, standing next to the grey mare whose reins were wrapped around a tree branch. Adam removed his black Stetson and saw what she was looking at.

"I thought that since I got to spend the afternoon with you, I should bring Sport one of Hoss' fillies to keep him happy," Adam said, stretching his hands out behind him as he leaned back. "I doubt he would have left us alone if I hadn't, he seems to be quite taken with you."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. He keeps throwing little looks over here."

One side of Adam's mouth lifted, and he let out a soft whistle. The big chestnut's ears instantly perked up and he turned away from the mare, moving in the direction of his master's call. But when he trotted over and Adam held out his hand, Sport blatantly ignored him and instead dipped his muzzle down into Madeline's palm.

"See what I mean?"

Madeline giggled and her eyes sparkled as she murmured quiet praise to the horse and stroked his nose. She held out a red apple and Sport grabbed it with his mouth and began chewing. Within a few seconds, the fruit was gone and he nuzzled Madeline's hand again, looking for another treat. Adam leaned over and clapped the horse's neck.

"All right, you've had your treat, now get outta here."

Sport tossed his head, snorting at his master's tone and waving hand gesture before he trotted back to his female friend. Madeline found their relationship extremely entertaining to watch—she hadn't seen anything like it before.

As Adam bit into a roast beef sandwich, she sipped her lemonade and asked him more about the history of the Ponderosa and his family. Her uncle had told her a lot already, but it was different hearing it all from him. He described the early years of living on the Ponderosa and how it had always been his father's dream to come to the West. The fond way he talked of his brothers confirmed what she'd already guessed about how close the three were, and he spoke with admiration and respect about his father. Her heart ached for him when he briefly related how Hoss' and Joe's mothers had died, his voice taking on a mechanical tone as he skillfully distanced any emotion from the words. She knew more details from her uncle than what Adam told her, but she didn't reveal it.

His mood quickly improved when she instead asked him about West Point. The time he'd spent at the military academy was obviously a source of great pride to him and she highly enjoyed hearing about it. It was odd, on the ride out here, she'd seen only Adam Cartwright the cowboy, but by the way he spoke, she realized that although the cowboy was in his element here on the Ponderosa—the soldier was very much out of his. She was pondering over that notion and taken off guard when he inclined his head in a "your turn" gesture.

There was no way she could avoid sharing at least something about her life and personal history, and she found that she actually wanted to tell him a bit about herself. So, she spoke of where she'd grown up in one of the upper-class neighborhoods in Augusta, Georgia, and he observed her with a curiously intent look as he soaked up every word.

She noted that his brow wrinkled when she referred to the maid in her parents' household who had taught her how to sew and embroider. Then suddenly, it dawned on her what he wanted to ask. Before he got the chance, she informed him that her parents hadn't kept slaves and even as she spoke, it became awkwardly obvious to her that he'd probably wondered about that for a while. And why wouldn't he? After all, it had been one of the reasons why he'd risked his life—to ensure that slavery met its end. She could be nothing but honest with him on that particular matter and explained that although her parents hadn't kept slaves themselves, they'd had many friends who did, and their inhumane views on black people were ones she had never understood or agreed with.

She was surprised when Adam simply half smiled and gently urged her to continue. Only, she found that she couldn't. The subjects of her childhood and girlhood were practically exhausted, and she was now moving into dangerous territory. The thought of him knowing what her life had been like for the last few years made panic well up inside her, like a violent river threatening to overflow its fragile banks. He must have seen it because he quite abruptly turned the talk onto her uncle and how happy he seemed to be with having her around. She was grateful for it and they chatted about lighthearted matters as they finished their meal.

Well over an hour had passed when Madeline began wrapping up the leftover sandwiches. Adam was leaning back against the tree trunk, one black-clad leg straightened out in front of him while the other was bent at the knee, his arm dangling across it.

"Are you sure that you've had enough?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you. That was the finest picnic I've ever had."

"You are welcome. It was the least I could do after all the kindness you have shown me." Madeline noticed a couple of Mountain Bluebirds cheeping and dancing around each other on the opposite side of the trickling creek. "I am so very pleased that we came here. I can't imagine a sight more beautiful than this. No wonder you and your brothers are fond of this place."

"We've been coming here since Joe was just a few inches from the ground." With a wistful smile, he went on. "Boy, was he a handful. Well, he still is now at times. At least that's what Hoss tells me." He bowed his head slightly, his smile gone. "I . . . haven't exactly been around to see it much for myself . . ."

Seeing the sorrow that shaded his face made her throat tighten around a sudden lump. There was no conscious thought behind the words that pushed past her lips, they came from her heart, not her mind.

"You did the best you could, I am sure he knows that. Everyone does . . ."

He didn't respond at first and she wasn't sure if he had even heard her. But then his head lifted and as he looked directly at her, she felt relived that she was sitting down. When she had first met him, she'd been mesmerized by the unique color of his eyes—a beautiful blend of light and dark. They were dark and deep just around the pupils and from there, swirls of different browns spread out to the rings of gold, touched by dark green, which circled his irises. They held secrets, those eyes, and so much emotion and right now, they had a special glimmer to them which brightened their hazel intensity.

"You," he suddenly said.

" . . .Pardon me?"

"A sight more beautiful than this place . . . it's you. You are more beautiful than anything around here."

Her countenance shifted from confusion to one of startled bewilderment. "I am not worthy of such a compliment . . ."

"You don't even realize it, do you?"

There was such wonder in his tone and he shifted his body nearer to hers.

"Madeline, I have never met a woman like you in all my life. So kind . . . clever . . . compassionate."

"Oh, Adam, please."

She shook her head, sending the curling tendrils dancing against her blushing cheeks.

"Modest . . ." He continued insistently as a dimple came out of hiding on his stubble-shaded cheek.

"Modest? And what about you? Your skills with rifles must be exceptionally rare, even for West Point."

"All right." He held her gaze, dipping his head. "I learned from the very best and I became one of them. I worked hard at it, still do. We all have our areas of expertise."

"It seems that there are a number of fields in which you are talented."

There was no mistaking the admiration in her soft-spoken words and he slowly leaned closer to her. Her treacherous eyes lowered to his mouth where she noticed a very faint, vertical scar on the left side of his upper lip. His voice had gone to that intimate place again, like she'd heard it once before.

"Well, I can't say if that is true or not. Nonetheless, your esteem means a great deal to me, Madeline."

"I . . . why?"

It was hardly a word, more of a shaky whisper and his smile inched a little higher.

"You know why."

Her small fingers were suddenly engulfed in the calloused warmth of his hand and their faces were close enough to share the same breath. That was probably a good thing because his near proximity seemed to pull the air straight from her lungs. At that second, he was all that existed, the only thing her senses allowed her to take in. The birds ceased their cheeping, the creek stopped trickling and the earthy smell of the grass surrendered to his masculine scent layered with leather, a ghost of bay rum cologne and that undefinable something which was entirely his own. Only him, his scent, those eyes.

"May I?"

A tiny nod was all she could give in response to his whispered request. She closed her eyes—looking at him was simply too much—and then it happened. A brush of warmth against her lips, reminiscent of a feather's light touch at first. But the maddening tickle sensation that spread all the way to her toes was unlike anything she had ever felt before. The initial brush became firmer as it evolved into a gentle pressure and a sudden electric rush ran through her at the feeling of his chin lightly scratching hers. It probably only lasted a couple of seconds, although the concept of time had become immeasurable as in dreams and when he pulled away, it took a moment before her eyes opened. She stared at his look of contentment, amazed at the emotions wreaking havoc inside her while his thumb stroked her knuckles in a rhythmic motion.

"I should probably get you back home before Paul comes looking for me."

His words were heavy with regret and once she got her own mouth working, her speech came out less in control than she would have wanted.

"Yes . . . it is getting late."

He shifted and got to his feet, still holding her hand. She let him pull her up and it took all her effort not to look at the enticing dark hairs peeking out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt.

"I'll go and get the horses ready."

He let go of her hand, reached down to pick up his black hat and walked over to the surrey. She began packing the rest of the picnic items, but continued to glance over at him and when he caught her eye she didn't look away. And she didn't blush.

The conversation on the ride home was comfortable and unforced, both of them feeling that a change had happened between them. They had moved into a new stage and Madeline felt strangely at peace with it, somehow knowing that in spite of all her worries and her apprehension—nothing could have prevented it in the end. When the outskirts of Virginia City came into view, it was close to six o'clock and Madeline became quiet. All of a sudden, all she could think about was that they had no further engagements planned after today and that she didn't know when she would see him again.

"Well, here we go," Adam said, "are you ready to liven up the town a bit with a new round of gossip?"

It was just a joke, she recognized that, but she only managed a tepid smile in return.

"Yes, I suppose so. Perhaps people will have lost interest."

"Mmmh."

Adam eyed the looming buildings skeptically when she spoke his name softly.

"Adam?"

"Yes?"

"Will you . . . will you perhaps be visiting town again this week or . . .?"

She was unaware of the smirk he bit back before he faced her.

"Well, I guess that depends on a number of things. A ranch like the Ponderosa keeps a guy real busy."

"Yes, of course. I understand," she said quietly.

The clattering of hooves and the sound of the surrey's wheels turning were the only sounds between them for several seconds.

"Do you _want_ me to visit town again this week, Madeline?"

Something in his tone made her look over at him and seeing the gentle teasing in his appearance made her smile.

"Yes, I do. Very much."

"In that case, I'll be around."

As they entered town, the whispering and scrutinizing had little to no effect on Madeline. She'd had one of the best afternoons she could ever remember, and it was all because of the man sitting beside her.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Notes_

 _Thank you all again for your kind reviews (and A Reader, Kathy and Guests) I am very grateful._

 _I am also glad that you are still enjoying the story._ _I had to split one looong chapter into two and this is the first bit. The next part will be up soon. I hope you like it._

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Light flakes of golden-brown stuck to his fingers, the pastry in his hand rolling slightly with every step he took. He held the turnover up to his face, admiring the perfect crescent-shape for a second and then brought it to his lips. In one bite, the pastry was gone and his eyelids fell closed when the sweet fruit filling coated his mouth. It was sticky, messy and heavenly and his teeth kept working the luscious mouthful as his stroll across the yard came to an end when he reached the open barn door.

"I tell you follas 'omethin'," he said, swallowing. "That Miss Delaney makes the dang best gooseberry turnovers I ever come across."

Adam stopped what he was doing and rested the pitchfork on the ground while Joe's head peeked up from inside one of the horses' stalls. They both observed Hoss as he happily licked his fingers, blissfully unaware of the drooping gooseberry-jam splotch on his shirt front. Joe leaned his shovel against the wall and came out of the stall, the underarms of his open shirt wet with sweat.

"We know, Hoss. It was all you talked about last night. And this morning. Now, will you stop eating all the time and come help me muck out these stalls?!"

"Easy there, little brother. There ain't no cause for you to get all ticked-off. Anyway, I spent all last week sortin' out them stalls on my own while you were breakin' horses."

"Good thing you _weren't_ breaking horses! If you'd been thrown off, all of Nevada would have shook when you hit the ground, you big moose!"

"All right, all right you two." Adam stepped over and flung an arm across his hot-tempered brother's heaving shoulders. "Joe, you can take over with the hay, and I'll do the rest of the stalls, hmm?"

"Actually Adam, Pa wants to see ya," Hoss said, brushing a few pastry crumbs off his shirt collar. "He said that we kin take the rest of the day off when we finish up out here and he wants to talk to ya in the house."

A white smile split Joe's flushed face. "Now, that's what I like to hear! Pa must be in an awful good mood." He clapped Adam on the chest and practically bounced under his brother's arm. "Hey Adam, you wanna do some shooting practice when we're done? Perfect day for it!"

Hoss' attention shifted from the jam stain he'd just discovered over to his siblings instead. He hadn't met a person yet who could withstand Joe's boyish charm when he was in that particular mood and their restrained older brother wasn't unaffected by it either.

"Oh, okay Joe," Adam said with just a hint of reluctance. "We can go up to Eagle's Canyon and get off a few long-distance shots as soon as we finish up here."

He gave Joe's beaming face a wink and walked over to hand Hoss the pitchfork.

"I better go and see what Pa wants."

As he left the barn, Joe grinned over at Hoss, their slight spat forgotten in the younger man's jubilance.

"You're coming too, right Hoss?"

"Sure, I am. I can't wait to see Adam handle a rifle again."

"Me neither." Joe scratched his chin. "You know those rifles he brought back with him when he came home? Maybe we can get him to take them . . ."

"Hey, that's right good thinkin'! I'd sure like to see what those things can do."

Smiling, Hoss handed Joe the pitchfork and headed over to the stall. "Let's get to work, little brother."

xXXx

Adam walked into the house and took off his hat, letting the door slam shut behind him. He went over to the alcove and leaned his forearms on the backrest of the chair in front of the desk.

"You wanted to see me, Pa?"

Ben looked up from the papers on his desk and sat back in his chair, his brow creased in thought.

"Yes, son . . . I want you to take Hoss and go up to the lumber camp on the east ridge tomorrow. The timber should be ready to be floated down Snake River and I'd like you to oversee the operation. It's probably best if you camp out until Friday. I thought I would give Joseph the responsibility of delivering the next herd of cattle to the buyers in Carson City. He can do that while you are away."

"Okay, it'll be good experience for the kid. Hoss and I will leave first thing in the morning. With any luck we'll be back late sometime Saturday.

It was impossible to notice anything wrong by Adam's appearance, but after thirty-one years of being his father, Ben quickly sensed the subtle note of disappointment in his voice.

"I'd like you both to come home on Friday, regardless of whether you're finished or not," Ben said. "We've made good time with this contract, there's no need to rush it."

That statement caused obvious surprise with Adam, but he just gave a silent dip of his head as Ben studied him, tapping his chin.

"Another thing . . . I'm going into town on the weekend to visit the bank. I was going to stop by Paul's to lend him one of Hop Sing's recipe books that he asked about last Saturday. Maybe you would care to join me . . .?"

Ben struggled to keep a straight face when Adam's lips puckered to one side while the rest of his expression remained impassive.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Okay then," Ben said, deciding not to add to the teasing his eldest was almost certainly getting from the two youngest members of the family. "Now, Hoss told you that you and the boys can take the rest of the day off?"

"Yea, we're gonna go up to Eagle's Canyon and do a bit of rifle practice in a little bit."

"Mmmh, that sounds like a good idea." Ben gave his son a knowing look. "Your youngest brother can be quite persuasive, can't he?"

"Might as well give in to him now or he'll never stop pestering me about it."

"Yes well, I think that you well and truly let that cat out of its bag."

Adam disregarded his father's amused look and decided it was time to end the conversation, so he pushed away from the chair.

"Was there anything else, _Sir_?" he asked with deliberate pretentiousness.

"No, that'll be all, son."

Ben was unable to stop the brief chuckle that escaped him.

After delivering a head-shake of the kind reserved specially for silly fathers, Adam spun around and ambled back over to the front door.

When he came out onto the porch, his brothers' enthusiastic chatter drifted across the yard as he headed to the barn. He stopped halfway there though, when Sport snorted at him from the corral. Adam went over to the fence and stroked the animal's strong neck, breathing in the unique scent of horse and hay.

"We're doing pretty well, aren't we boy?" Sport leaned his big chin on his human's shoulder while Adam continued the soothing motion. "Just a little bit better every day."

* * *

Thursday was a busy day for Adam and Hoss, but they'd agreed on riding to the lumber camp very early in the morning and as a result, they got a lot of work done. By evening, two thirds of the felled logs had been floated down Snake River and transported to two Cartwright saw mills near the Washoe Valley. Adam had arranged for horse teams to be ready the next day and they could then begin transporting the cut timber to Virginia City. He had also sent a message to the clients from a new mining company on the Comstock, informing them that the first timber shipments would be arriving sometime Friday afternoon. Everything had gone so well that they would be meeting the contract almost six days ahead of time.

The logging crews had immediately accepted Adam as their main boss and they recognized that a big part of the reason for the operation's smooth running was due to his skills as overseer. It wasn't something he was really aware of, but he approached the work as if he were back in the military and his manner was systematic and organized when it came to the planning and execution of the tasks at hand. He was constantly thinking ahead which prevented wasted time and hold ups in between the specific jobs that needed doing. Safety precautions were a high priority for him and he set the firm rule that all equipment such as ropes, hooks and saws would be checked with regular intervals. The loggers, many of who had worked for a lot of different lumber companies, appreciated Adam's emphasis on safety since it was an aspect of their profession which many other employers paid little mind to.

It was hard physical work, but the rafts carrying the logs drifted downstream with no slip-ups or log jams.

The Cartwright brothers worked equally hard as their men and they also took many of the most dangerous jobs upon themselves. When it came to lifting and steadying logs, Hoss' brute strength was a great asset while other tasks, which required climbing the mountain slope and checking ropes or dry-chutes, sometimes relied on Adam's natural athleticism.

As they camped out that night, Adam felt every bump and bruise he'd acquired throughout the day stabbing at his sore body. His exhaustion was at the point where he couldn't hide it effectively and the men who'd all witnessed him do more than his share, insisted on him having one of the beds in the log cabin. Adam was touched by their thoughtfulness, but a couple of reasons made him politely declined the offer.

One was, that he'd spent so many nights sleeping outside during the war that he simply preferred it to being in the confined space of a cabin. The more definitive reason though, was that he simply didn't trust himself to stay quiet all through the night. His nightmares were still there, even though he didn't always remember them as clearly now, but whether he was aware of them or not, he was pretty sure that they were rarely silent.

With that in mind, he excused himself and went to put down his bedroll a little way off from the camp fire, clearly indicating his wish to be alone. A few of the men found him hard to figure while others were more perceptive and some even had relatives or acquaintances who'd fought in the war and who also found nighttime troublesome.

Hoss made up a bed by the camp fire, as close to Adam as he thought he could get away with, fully aware that his brother would not tolerate any fussing—especially in front of their employees. Although Hoss was pretty exhausted himself, a nagging sense of unease kept him from sleep and it took a long time before he dozed off.

Hours later, when the fire had turned to ash and the camp was quiet, that same feeling of unease brought him to the surface of his light slumber. He knew straight away that Adam was dreaming. He just felt it somehow. Then, when a soft mumbling came from his brother's still form, it took all of Hoss' control to stop himself from going over there. He just listened to the stuttered sentences, spoken in such low tones that they almost drowned out in the quiet symphony of the crickets surrounding the camp.

For as long as he could, Hoss held onto the hope that Adam's nightmare would be a fleeting one, but some part of him had known all along that it wouldn't. When the muttering grew more distressed and Adam began tossing and throwing off his blanket, Hoss couldn't keep still anymore. He got to his feet and hurried over to kneel down beside the restless body on the ground.

It became clear to him that his brother was in a very deep sleep since there was no reaction whatsoever when Hoss took hold of his arm to calm him. Adam's breathing was becoming very labored, like he'd just sprinted up the slope of the Eastern Sierras and collapsed in a heap. The shimmering glow from the moon spilled across his face, making him look ghostly white—at least Hoss _hoped_ that the moon was the reason for it and that he wasn't actually that pale.

The big man held his squirming sibling still while Adam's wheezing speech pitched higher as he started calling out to people who were no longer there.

"Easy Adam, you gotta wake up now, this ain't doin ya no good," Hoss murmured, his hold tightening around the black-clad arm.

"Is he all right, Hoss?"

So caught up in his brother's misery, Hoss hadn't heard the chuck-wagon cook approach from behind him.

"Yea, Smokey, just dreamin'. He ain't proper awake yet . . . you go on back to sleep, he'll be fine."

The old cook nodded slowly, all emotions hidden in the maze of wrinkles on his face.

"They can be trying things . . . dreams . . ."

Hoss only half-heard the cook's retreating footsteps because Adam suddenly sucked in a heaving breath and his eyes sprang open. For a few seconds, he stared straight up into the dark sky above him, deaf to his big brother's words of reassurance.

". . . Hoss?"

"Yea, Adam, it's me. You were dreamin' . . ."

Adam blinked once, then his eyes closed again.

"I'm sorry . . ."

Hoss would honestly rather have been punched in the jaw than hear those quiet words. It would have hurt less.

"Now don't ya be silly. It ain't your fault." He gave his brother's arm a squeeze, then dropped his hand.

Moving to sit up, Adam rested his arms on his knees, fighting to get his breathing back under control. His head was bowed as he discreetly tried to look around Hoss' bulk.

"Everyone's asleep," Hoss said. "Just Smokey heard."

There was only truth and understanding in those milky blue eyes, but Adam didn't see it because he couldn't look at them.

"Well, you better go back to sleep too. I'm fine."

"Adam, ya don't need to—"

"It's fine, Hoss. Just . . . it's fine."

A wall had suddenly come up between them, and strong as Hoss was, he lacked the power to breach it. He hesitated, wishing that things didn't have to be this way.

"You sure you're gonna be okay? I can move over here . . . might make a difference."

"No thanks," Adam mumbled, and if he even considered the suggestion, he didn't let on. "I'll be okay."

Hoss was left with no choice and biting down on his own frustration, he gave Adam's slumped shoulder a little pat before standing up.

"Okay . . . good night then."

"Yea. Good night."

It was only when Hoss turned his back to him, that Adam looked up. He waited until his brother had returned to his own bedroll, until he was alone.

Tipping his head back, Adam inhaled deeply, trying to force the gruesome images out of his awareness. This nightmare had been worse than usual, but he wasn't sure what had triggered it. It could be his exhaustion or maybe the camping out again had provoked it. Most likely, it was a combination of the two. One thing was certain—he remembered every single detail. Vividly.

As he lay back down, he looked up at the night sky. It was an odd thought, but while he stared at the boundless darkness above, he realized exactly how he felt. It was as if he could lift his hand and pinpoint the very feeling he carried around inside.

What he saw was utter blackness. The kind that dulled the stars, the kind that threatened to swallow a person whole.

* * *

Ben was sitting on the front porch with his paperwork when Adam and Hoss rode into the yard Friday evening. His heart lifted at the sight, just as it always did when any of his sons came home after an absence, however long or short it might be. Joe had just come home a few minutes earlier from his trip to Carson City and Ben had been anxious for his two oldest boys to get back too. It was the first time since Adam's return home from the war that he hadn't spent the night at the house and Ben was relieved that he'd insisted on the boys coming home for the weekend.

Rising from his chair, Ben saw Joe come out of the barn and go to greet his brothers as they dismounted stiffly. They were talking rather quietly as Ben walked towards them, and he noticed that they didn't seem to be engaging in their customary banter. He could tell that something was a little off and when he reached them, he was met with three subdued smiles.

A closer look at Adam, told Ben that he was the reason for their solemn moods. While all three brothers looked tired and sore, Adam was the worst by far—with dark circles under his eyes and a pale tinge to his skin.

Ben was dismayed, but he covered up his immediate concern with a chirpy "welcome home", and gentle claps to his two oldest sons' backs.

It seemed like Adam was about to deliver a full report on their progress with the lumber contract, but just as he opened his mouth, Ben told him it could wait until they had rested up first. He suggested a relaxing bath, which he suspected was just what his firstborn needed, and while Joe took care of the horses, Adam began a heavy trek towards the porch. Ben and Hoss hung back and they were both mildly surprised when Adam didn't even seem to have the energy to comment on it. As soon as he'd gone inside the house, Ben turned to Hoss.

"How is he? Did something happen?"

"He's plumb tuckered out, Pa. Been workin' real hard and he didn't get barely any sleep last night. Had a pretty bad nightmare . . ."

Ben's expression turned grim and even though he knew it was a waste of his breath, he had to ask, "Did he tell you about it?"

"No. I guess he still thinks he's gotta keep them things bottled up inside. It's gettin' mighty frustratin'."

Hoss kicked at the dirt on the ground, his shoulders sagging noticeably and Ben's focus shifted from one son to another. He could only imagine the pressure Hoss must have been under with keeping an eye on his likely unwilling brother on top of working at the lumber camp.

"We know how he is, Hoss." Ben put a hand on his son's big back. "We can't do much more than what we're doing. He'll probably feel better after a bath and some rest."

"Yea . . . I sure hope so."

"You look like you could do with some rest yourself. Come on, let's go inside."

With forced cheerfulness, Ben told him about the steaks Hop Sing was cooking up for dinner, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect on Hoss' dejected demeanor. While Ben's first priority became cheering up his middle-boy, he couldn't completely push away the aching helplessness clawing at his own heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

At noon the next day, Ben rode to Virginia City with Adam and Joe while Hoss stayed at home to keep an eye on things at the ranch. Joe had a lunch engagement with Maisy and Ben was pleased to see his youngest son sticking to one girl for more than a couple of weeks. The young man seemed genuinely interested in the pretty redhead and even if their current enchantment with one another didn't move on to anything more serious, at least they were enjoying each other's company for the moment.

Ben's motivation for visiting town was also mostly of a social nature, but he did have a sort of informal business meeting at the International House with a client. He was meeting with one of the men who had a share in the newly established mining company on the Comstock and he suspected that they might be interested in a new business deal now that the current lumber contract he had with them was almost fulfilled. The Cartwright logging operation was running extremely effectively at the moment—the fact that they'd delivered practically all the timber shipments so many days ahead of the deadline was proof of that. Ben couldn't be happier with the results and he'd made sure that Adam and Hoss knew it when they'd delivered their report yesterday.

During the ride to town, it was mostly Joe and Ben doing the talking, but while the father's attention was on his youngest, he was equally aware of his other son riding next to him. It was a unique ability which had come in handy more than a few times over the years and Ben had mastered it so well that even his perceptive oldest boy didn't notice it.

At least Adam looked better now than when he and Hoss had come home the previous day. The bath and quiet evening had done him some good and Ben fervently hoped that he'd gotten some decent rest during the night, although with Adam, it was never easy to tell.

As they came into Virginia City, most folks would probably say that he looked like his usual self, but the people who knew him well, like his family and a few close friends, would be able to detect the weariness in his features and the effort it was taking him to maintain his straight posture. It was noticeable, however, that the deeper they got into town, the more he seemed to perk up and the reason why was obvious to his father.

Their first stop was the bank since Ben wanted to get the financial matters over with first. Having no desire to join in on that particular venture, Joe went off to see Maisy after arranging to meet up with his family later.

Ben ended up being the only one entering the bank because Adam insisted on waiting outside. Just before he stepped through the bank's open doors, Ben glanced back and noticed that his eldest was still mounted on Sport, staring at some point down the street, or more precisely, in the direction of Paul's house.

The bank was fairly crowded—it was probably the busiest time he could have picked to go in—and Ben spent quite a while queuing up. As he stood there, awaiting his turn, he did think to himself that he might just find his oldest boy gone by the time he got outside again. He could just imagine Adam getting tired of waiting and riding to the doctor's house alone.

Fifteen minutes later, he finally made it to the counter and after taking care of business, Ben was on his way out of the bank when he ran into deputy Andrew. The two had a brief talk and when Ben asked the younger man about Roy Coffee, he was delighted when Andrew told him that the sheriff was in fact visiting their mutual doctor friend. Wishing the deputy a good day, he pushed past all the people in the cramped room and went back outside. A little surprising, perhaps—Adam was still there, shifting uncomfortably in the saddle, and still looking down the street.

"Well, what do you know," Ben said, walking to the hitching rail. "Roy is over at Paul's at the moment."

"Mmm, no kiddin' . . ."

"No, Andrew told me, I ran into him just before."

"Mmm, interesting. Can we go now?"

Adam wasn't even looking at him and Ben hid a smile as he stopped by his horse.

"Yes, I guess so. Unless, is there anywhere else we need to stop by? Or should we just ride straight to Paul's . . .?"

"Just straight to Paul's, Pa."

Ben concentrated hard on untying Buck's reins—it was the only way he could keep himself from laughing. He went around to Buck's side and had one foot in the stirrup when he caught Adam's eye. The young man stared at him with a look that clearly stated that he thought his father was mounting his horse like an old woman. Once comfortably seated in the saddle, Ben made a swooping hand gesture for Adam to go first, and at that point he didn't even bother to contain his amusement at the childlike impatience his grown son was exuding.

Soon after, father and son dismounted outside the doctor's house and tied their horses to the hitching post out front. Clearly, the speed with which Ben climbed the stairs was insufficient and Adam went ahead and had already knocked on the door when Ben came up beside him. The door opened, and Paul's lively smile welcomed them.

"Well, good day, gentlemen!"

"Hello Paul, I wanted to give you that recipe book you asked about from Hop Sing."

Ben held the book out and Paul took it, his hand gliding across the worn cover.

"Thank you, Ben. I was really starting to run out of inspiration." The doctor stepped to the side in the doorway, gesturing for them to come inside. "Come in, Roy and I were just having coffee."

They came into the foyer and Adam, who'd only gotten out a mumbled "Hi Paul", glanced searchingly around, his hat in his hands. Paul led the way into the sitting room and the dark Cartwright looked instantly deflated when he saw that Roy was the room's only occupant. While the sheriff greeted his friends enthusiastically, Paul's smile slowly faded when he studied Adam and noticed his quiet countenance. The others sensed it too and Ben regarded his son fondly as Adam stood there—awkward and uncertain—his face slightly turned down while he looked up at the doctor. The moment realization hit Paul was evident because he threw his hands up in the air in a visual display of surrender.

"Oh, relax lad, she's in the kitchen!"

The charismatic, dimpled grin that broke out on Adam's face reminded the three older men just why he was so popular with the town's female population—in case they'd forgotten. He politely excused himself and backed out of the room.

"Lord . . ." Paul walked over to his burgundy chair and slid down into it. "I never thought I would be exposed to this kind of stress in my old age."

Ben and Roy aimed smiles at each other and sat down on the settee opposite their friend.

"Come on, Paul, as a doctor you must be used to stressful situations."

"Ha! Give me broken bones, cuts and bullet wounds. This is far beyond my area of expertise."

xXXx

Adam was halfway down the hall when he picked up the faint fragrance of her entrancing perfume. Pausing for a moment, he closed his eyes, savoring it, then he followed the invisible trail to the kitchen. The sight that met him as he stood in the doorway, brought a wave of warmth flooding through him and a strange sense of peace seemed to settle in every inch of his body. It was as if the simple sight of her finally allowed him to draw in a proper breath again. She had on the same pale pink dress with the white flowers as she'd worn at the county fair and she was standing on her tip toes, reaching up towards a shelf above her. He could see the side of her face, the way her brow was lined in concentration, her lips drawn up in a small pucker. The memory of the kiss they'd shared at Silver Creek returned with a force—like a ray of light cutting through the darkness that had been enveloping his mind. He knew that he should make his presence known before she saw him watching her. Besides, she was never going to reach that top shelf by herself.

"Would you like some help with that?"

She startled, fell back onto the heels of her shoes and faced him.

"Adam! I didn't know you were here . . ."

With perfect aim, he tossed his hat onto the kitchen table and strolled towards her while she eyed him with surprised joy, her white teeth flashing between her upturned lips.

"This one?" he asked with a lopsided smile, easily stretching his arm up to take hold of a cast-iron skillet.

"Yes, thank you."

She took the pan and gave him an inquisitive look.

"What brings you here?"

"Well, my father wanted to come by and give Paul one of Hop Sing's recipe books."

"Oh." Her gaze dropped. "Right . . ."

"And _I_ came by to see you."

There was mischief in his eyes, but his voice was sincere. She reined in her growing smile and walked straight past him, over to the worktable by the window where she set down the skillet.

"Is that so?"

The words were casually tossed over her shoulder and Adam followed after her, keeping his grin in check.

"Yes, that's so." He leaned close, one arm resting on the tabletop. "Are you . . . pleased that we stopped by?"

"Why, yes, Adam. I am sure that Uncle Paul will really enjoy trying out some new recipes."

Her southern drawl dripped with sweet innocence and she spared him a courteous glance before grabbing a bowl which was covered with a dishtowel. He watched her patiently, knowing that she was teasing him and that he deserved it a little. When she'd inspected the contents of the bowl and neatly folded the dishtowel beside some other bags and jars on the table, she turned to him, apparently curious about his lack of comeback. He didn't fill out the moment with talk, he simply reached out his hand and gently took hold of hers. It was beyond his comprehension how being close to her and tracing her small, silky fingers just made his existence better somehow.

"You have been working hard?"

Looking up from her hand, he saw the concerned note he'd heard in the question reflected openly on her face. How did she do that? How could she know? And why was it, that the look she was giving him now made him want to pour out his troubles and let her hear all of it—let her see the things he didn't dare show anyone else? This sudden want to _share_ was unfamiliar to him and frankly, disconcerting.

"I've just been working at our lumber camp with Hoss. I guess it can be a bit taxing at times," he said, going for nonchalance. "We've almost finished our contract now though, no problems."

"An operation like that must be quite stressful when there are deadlines to be met."

"Yes, well . . . we made good time . . ." He trailed off, but she continued to watch him, and he suddenly felt very exposed. Clearing his throat, he let go of her hand, so he could motion at the items on the worktable.

"So, what are you making?"

Something tightened in his chest when he felt her stroke his forearm once, softly, in a simple gesture of understanding. He didn't know how it was even possible that she understood, but it seemed that she did.

Then she lifted a bag and sprinkled a light dusting of flour out onto the table.

"I have been baking all morning, there's an apple pie and a coffee cake over there." She pointed past Adam where the two items stood on top of a sideboard. "This afternoon, I am going to take them over to Sally Piper's restaurant. I asked Mrs. Piper if she perhaps had a job for me there, and she told me to bring something homemade for her to try before she decided whether or not to hire me."

"I thought you were working as a nurse for Paul?" Adam asked as he admired the delicious looking pie and cake.

"Yes, and I would still help Uncle Paul as a nurse when he needs it. If it fits with Mrs. Piper, of course. But I felt that I needed to do something more to earn my place here. And besides, I am not formally trained as a nurse, as you know."

She tipped the bowl over and a lump of dough rolled out onto the powdered surface.

"Anyway, I suppose it all depends on whether Mrs. Piper likes my baking or not."

He inclined his head towards the pie and cake. "I can tell just by looking at those two, that you've got the job."

"You know, Adam Cartwright," she said, her arched eyebrows bouncing on the syllables of his name, "I think you'd compliment me, regardless."

Looking her up and down, he let a faint dimple surface.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," she smiled. "That's so."

She put the dough to the side as she began parting and coring some red apples and explained to him that the last pie she was making, was simply because there was a little dough and some apples left over. Her nimble fingers moved with speed and confidence and he noted the systematic way the flour, sugar and butter were organized on the work-surface.

Paul was probably a very chaotic person to have with her in the kitchen, but Adam doubted that she could get beyond fondly exasperated with her lovable uncle. As a matter of fact, he couldn't picture her getting annoyed, let alone angry, with anyone. They talked for a while as she worked, but then she fell silent, focusing on cutting some thinner apple slices, which Adam assumed would be some kind of decoration for the pie. As the minutes ticked by, a thought slowly sank in. He could stay like this for hours. Just watching her without talking. Taking in her presence.

Hard as he tried, he couldn't help it that his gaze wandered to the low, ruffled neckline of her dress. It really wasn't deliberate when he caught himself trying to imagine what lay beneath the pink material. Over the last four years, he'd barely spared his manly urges a thought, but after meeting Madeline—they'd been thoroughly reignited. When his heart-rate skipped up a few beats, he was forced to make a conscious effort to calm himself down.

His attention was suddenly diverted when she brought a hand up to the side of her face. He recognized the movement she was about to make, but she stopped herself just in time, clearly realizing that her fingers were covered in flour and sweet apple juice. She continued slicing the final apple and Adam smiled when she did a tiny head-shake to get the teasing, brown curl away from her cheek. A minute passed, during which she instinctively repeated the motion two more times, nearly smearing her hair and face, but the persistent curl kept falling back down after being shaken away. Her cuteness was utterly unfathomable.

When she finished the last apple, she must have felt his gaze out of the corner of her eye and she turned towards him, obviously surprised by the amused, yet intense way he was watching her.

She was about to speak, but before she could say anything, he reached up and carefully stroked the smooth lock back, settling it behind her ear. Unable to resist the temptation, he brought his hand back to her cheek, lightly brushing the pad of his thumb across the blooming blush as she stared at him, her pupils dilated.

". . . Adam?"

"Yes?"

"Would you . . . do something for me?"

"Anything, Madeline."

"Anything?"

"Yes. You name it."

"All right. I'd like you to bake this pie with me."

". . . Uh, what?"

Stupefied by her request, his arm dropped down and he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be worried.

"I'd like you to bake this apple pie with me," she repeated.

Her eyes were intent, not leaving his for an instant and her head tilted fractionally to the side. A deep rumble rose up through his chest, then his throat and an astounded laughter suddenly broke free.

"Madeline, I can't bake!"

The corners of her mouth quirked up a little, but her gaze didn't waver.

"And how do you know? Have you ever tried?"

"I, well no, I . . . I haven't but—"

"Good then, no time like the present!"

She suddenly stepped around him and disappeared while he just stood there, completely speechless at the surprising turn of events. Now that his laughter had died rather abruptly, he turned to the second of his two initial reactions—worry. He twisted around, his mouth already open and ready to protest as she came back towards him, carrying a white apron in her hands.

"Madeline, really, I'm quite the disaster in a kitchen, ask anyone in my family . . . even Paul or Roy."

"Mr. Cartwright, I do believe you are nervous."

She stopped in front of him, the humor dancing like little sparkles in her eyes.

"I will guide you through it. It really is quite easy once you get the hang of it. And very satisfying to eat something you have baked yourself." Her face fell a little and she folded her arms around her middle, hugging the apron to her front. "Unless, of course, you are too busy . . ."

Whatever hold this woman had on him, he was totally powerless against it and all his usually quick-thinking brain could come up with, was that he really wished he was that white apron. His reluctant expression melted into one of silent acceptance and Madeline's eyes brightened again.

"Don't worry, I won't let you burn it."

"Well. That's a comfort."

"Here you are."

She held the apron out towards him, but a sudden smirk spread across his lips. He turned around and standing with his back to her, he stretched his arms out to the sides, waiting patiently. A soft laugh came from somewhere behind him, then he looked down and saw her hands come into sight at both sides of him. She reached the white fabric around him and feeling the light pressure against his back made a tingle run down his spine. Regrettably, it was over far too soon as she tied the two strings of the apron around his waist and appeared next to him.

"Well, Sir, are you ready?"

"I guess there's no turning back now . . ."

He rinsed his hands by the water pump while she got the butter ready to grease the skillet. When she handed him a wooden rolling pin, he was thankful for the fact that his men and colleagues in the army couldn't see him now.

xXXx

In the sitting room, the three old friends had been enjoying catching up with each other and Ben gulped down the last of his coffee and leaned back on the settee next to Roy.

"Ahh. I should get going. I guess I ought to try and pry that boy of mine away from your lovely niece, Paul."

The doctor scoffed into his coffee cup, nearly spilling the hot liquid all over his lap and the wing-back chair.

"Good luck! Didn't you see his expression before he disappeared? I wouldn't be surprised if he's run off with her through the back door."

"But doc, you gotta admit—those two make one fine looking couple," Roy broke in, stroking his grey mustache with his index finger. "And the change in Adam! I ain't ever seen him so caught up in a girl before. Last week at dinner, Joe and I could barely keep it together, watching him acting all skittish around her."

The corners of Ben's eyes creased, and he murmured in agreement.

"Yes, he is certainly smitten with her."

"How's he been holding up?" Paul asked in his doctor tone, his face inexpressive.

"Well . . ." Ben sighed, rubbing at the vertical lines embedded in his forehead. "He is improving, but some days are better than others. He and Hoss spent some time at the logging camp this week. When they got back yesterday, he was a lot worse off than when they left. He was quiet and withdrawn the whole evening. Sometimes, it's as if he goes to this dark place and I just don't know how to reach him. I worry that . . . well, that someday, he might not come back to us from that place." Ben halted, taking in the words that he hadn't dared say out loud for such a long time. "I'm his father and I don't know how to help him. He won't talk about it, you both know how he was before the war . . . and now it's even worse."

When Ben raised his head, he could clearly read the genuine sympathy and understanding in his two friends' faces. He hadn't realized how much he'd needed to give tongue to his own concerns and frustrations. Lately, most of his energy had been spent on being there for Adam in whatever way he was allowed and when that task was completed, he had two other sons whose need for him to be strong and reliable came before any of his own. He didn't want Hoss or Joe to see his own fear for their brother and the doubts he had about the progress that was being made. And what he _really_ didn't want, was for Adam to see those things.

The support and care emanating from his two friends seemed to give him a fresh burst of strength he'd sorely needed. He wasn't alone.

"I'll admit that part of the reason why I wanted to stop by here today was because of Adam. I hoped that a visit with Madeline would lift his spirits."

Paul steepled his fingers under his chin and Ben noticed the doctor's lack of surprise.

"You knew?"

"Hmm? Oh, please, Ben. It's the only reason why I haven't been out in that kitchen chaperoning for the last half an hour." Paul rested his chin on his knuckles. "He didn't look well when he first came in."

Roy spoke, adding his own insight. "Yep, noticed it too. I reckon you're doing everything you can, Ben. Adam always was a hard one to figger. Hardheaded too, like his Pa. But he'll get there, I believe that."

"Thanks, Roy. But as for the hardheaded part—he didn't get that from me. At least not all of it."

Ben rose from the settee with a smile, feeling like a heavy weight had lifted inside him. "Right, now we do really need to get going. We're meeting with our client on this last big timber deal. I think he might be interested in continuing our business."

Paul and Roy stood up too and the doctor took the tray with the empty coffee cups and went first out into the hall. Roy clapped Ben on the back and made his customary joke about how the rancher had started the Ponderosa as a cattle business and was now making an equal or even greater amount of money on the lumber trade, which Adam had encouraged his father to invest in many years ago. When they got to the kitchen doorway, their cheerful voices cut off abruptly. They all froze, squashed beside each other. Ben's pupils suddenly seemed tiny against the whites of his eyes and Paul's mouth fell open while Roy fumbled in search of the glasses in his shirt pocket.

"There. It's important that you press the pastry down firmly but carefully everywhere . . . to make the crust even all around, you see."

"Like this?"

"Yes, that is perfect."

The three men stared silently at the spectacle in the kitchen. Adam Cartwright, renowned for his tough, cool exterior, now stood before them with a white apron tied around his waist in an elegant bow—breaking up his habitual dark look. He was frowning, his head bent, completely engrossed in carefully pressing dough into a baking skillet. It was Paul who first regained the use of his voice.

"Adam, we should go into my office for a spell. I think you may be in dire need of my assistance."

At the sound of Paul's words, Adam and Madeline turned around at the same time. The comical looks on the three men's faces very nearly had Madeline giggling heartedly and she bit her lip as she glanced sideways.

Adam, for his part, remained completely straight-faced as he pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest which, unbeknownst to him, made him look even more hilarious. It turned out to be more than the doctor and sheriff could take and they broke down laughing.

"Pa." Adam acknowledged, ignoring the other two. He motioned to the skillet with a flour-covered hand. "We were just . . . uh . . . well . . . baking a pie."

"Yes, son. I see that . . ."

Paul and Roy were still in the throes of their laughing fit, gasping for breath, and clinging to each other while trying to keep the shaking coffee tray from dropping to the floor.

"Oh, shush you two, don't tease him now!" Madeline's soft-spoken rebuke seemed to have the opposite effect of its intent and instead breathed new life into their state of hysterics.

Ben walked fully into the kitchen and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Madeline, dear. Have you been informed of Adam's . . . ah, hazardous cooking habits?" he asked cautiously.

That question prompted an eye roll from Adam and he turned back to his pie, lightly pressing down the smooth pastry.

"Yes, Ben, I assure you, I have been duly warned." Madeline smiled at him. "And so far, the kitchen is still in one piece, as you see."

Ben responded with a skeptical dip of his head.

"Very well then." He turned back to Paul and Roy who were now both teary-eyed and had a pale red color to their faces. "It looks like I'll be going to that business meeting alone then."

Adam quickly spun around, only just remembering the meeting, but Ben held up his hand.

"Don't worry yourself, son. I'm fairly sure I can handle it by myself." His thick eyebrows lowered, and a gleam appeared in his deep brown orbs. "Now, you just have fun and I'll be back to pick you up later when you've finished your little project."

There was a loud snort from the doorway behind him, which was immediately silenced when his son leveled a fierce glower past him and onto whichever one of their two friends had uttered the sound.

Adam then shifted his attention back to Ben, his expression tight.

"I suggest you get going then, Pa. You wouldn't want to be late."

Ben faced Madeline for a moment, and while her eyes were gently urging him to refrain from teasing his son anymore, the smile she was giving him was so bright and happy that he felt almost grateful to her because it truly was a beautiful sight.

He dropped his head with a subtle grin. "You'll see me out, Paul?"

"Certainly, Ben."

"I reckon I should get going to," Roy said, "I better see what my deputy is getting' up to."

Paul placed the coffee tray on a sideboard and Roy nodded in goodbye at Madeline. When the sheriff turned to do the same for Adam, the entertaining sight of the younger man's attire got the better of him again.

"Oh, just get outta here, will you?!"

It wasn't quite a yell, but Adam's tone made the three men flee from the kitchen and down the hall, their shoulders shaking all the way to the foyer.

xXXx

Ben and Roy said their goodbyes to Paul and when Ben mounted his horse, he and the sheriff also parted ways. The Cartwright headed straight to the International House on C street and was lucky to find a spot for Buck outside of the big hotel. When he walked into the building's restaurant, he surveyed the room but saw no one around who could be his client. Assuming that the man had been delayed, Ben explained to a waiter that he was expecting someone to arrive shortly. He was shown to a table in the middle of the room and ordered himself a coffee while he waited.

Barely two minutes had gone by before Ben was wishing he'd been seated somewhere else. The reason was, that the table obliquely ahead of him was occupied by a group of women—all of whom were members of the Women's Social Club. Their shrilly voices reminded him of cutlery grating on fine china and when a shrieky laughter rang out through the room, he realized that the lady underneath the ghastly bird's nest of a hat was Mrs. Aida Stewart. He sank lower in his chair and contemplated what type of future business proposition might be presented to him when his client arrived. Although he tried to shut out the women's talk, he couldn't help but overhear a few sentences and he sat up straighter as he started listening in on their conversation.

"Frankly, I am of the opinion that she should have been dismissed from our meeting at once!"

"I agree. After all, she cannot rightfully claim to be a Virginia City citizen, yet she acts like she has been part of our community for years!"

"I hear that she went to see Sally Piper about a job too. Now, what could a southern snob know about working in a restaurant? There are no slaves for her to order about now."

"And the way she dresses just in her everyday wear! Such an obvious attempt to beguile the menfolk. I am glad I shall never visit whatever rebel state she comes from if _that_ is the women's fashion."

"Doctor Martin is such a respectable man—just think of the burden she has brought on him. Having a spinster like her living under his roof . . . and there she is, working at his practice and she isn't even a qualified nurse! Why, she admitted that to me herself!"

Ben's fists clenched as they lay on top of the tablecloth and his lips drew inward, making his mouth into a thin line. The spiteful conversation continued spewing between the ladies and each word hit him like a small stab in the heart. He felt pain, not only for the endearing young woman he had come to know, but also for his old friend who would be extremely upset if he heard this hateful talk. He struggled to keep his temper in check, but it was now impossible to ignore what was going on right in front of him. When the waiter came over with his coffee, he drew in a breath and forced out a polite "thank you". The waiter's approach had registered with some of the ladies and when Ben spoke quietly, Aida Stewart turned around in her seat. He was suddenly confronted with her hawkish face; the teeth tinged yellow from her vast tea consumption, the jowls slackened by her gossiping ways.

"Why, Ben Cartwright! We hadn't even realized you were sitting there all by yourself. Please, join us!"

Ben's voice was low and measured as he eyed her with a mixture of politeness and disdain.

"I'm afraid I must decline your invitation, Mrs. Stewart."

"Oh . . . really?" she said, her eyes narrowing. "You are expecting someone?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. But even if I wasn't, my answer would still be the same. You see, I don't want to take part in your conversation"

Her mouth dropped open in outrage, but he continued, his voice rising higher as he addressed the entire table.

"I happen to be _of the opinion_ that Miss Delaney's presence here in Virginia City is both refreshing and most welcome and I have no interest in hearing such foul and unjust talk aimed at a young woman who has done absolutely nothing to deserve it. So, I ask you all to keep your voices down or better yet—change the subject of your discussion."

The ladies were too shocked to give any response, several of them ducking their heads in embarrassment as the background chatter of the room had quieted. Ben calmly sipped his coffee, ignoring the eyes on him from all corners of the restaurant and he was very relieved that Adam hadn't accompanied him after all.

"Uhm, Mr. Cartwright? I apologize for my delay . . ."

Ben looked up at the suit-clad man who'd appeared beside the table, and he noted the man's slightly reddened cheeks. Yep, he'd no doubt heard every bit of the outburst.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Hill." Ben shook his hand. "Won't you sit down?"

The man took the chair opposite Ben and there was an awkward pause.

"Mr. Hill, I hope our deal has been satisfactory to—"

"One moment, Mr. Cartwright. Before we turn to business, I would like to offer you my deepest respect and congratulations."

"I . . . whatever for?"

"For silencing six women with two sentences." Mr. Hill leaned across the table, offering a knowing expression. "I live with four daughters and a wife, Sir."

When the words registered with him, Ben chuckled deeply, instantly relaxing with the witty man opposite him.

"Well, I can't claim to know about your predicament, but I do know that my own three boys were no picnic."

The two men delved into a pleasant conversation and Ben didn't even notice when Mrs. Aida Stewart and the other ladies left the restaurant. It wasn't until thirty minutes later that he saw their table had been occupied by another party.

xXXx

Ben walked out of the International house an hour after he'd stepped inside—with a very good deal secured. It meant two more timber contracts for the Cartwrights and he was more than satisfied with the price agreement that had been reached between him and Mr. Hill. However, he couldn't forget what had happened earlier and the incident with the gossiping women was putting a severe damper on his good mood. On his way back to Paul's house, he rode past the Bucket of Blood and spotted his youngest son outside. Joe had stopped off there, hoping to fit in a little beer before meeting his family, but he quickly mounted Cochise and went to join his father.

After having had a great afternoon, Joe was eager to talk about his lunch with Maisy, but Ben was preoccupied, and the young man sensed it.

"Joe," Ben said after his boy had given up on the one-sided conversation. "Didn't you say something about Maisy inviting Madeline to the Women's Social Club?"

"Yea, Pa, she mentioned it to Madeline last Saturday at the dinner. I thought it was really nice of her, helping Madeline to make some more friends around town."

"Yes, it was. Did Maisy say how it went?"

"No . . . I think they usually meet on Wednesdays, but she didn't say anything to me about it. Why?"

"No reason, son. I was just wondering. You know how those women can be towards newcomers and I suppose I just want Madeline to be treated well."

Joe could tell that there was something his father wasn't saying, but he didn't want to probe him about it since they were so close to doc Martin's house.

When they got to the doctor's, Paul told them to come inside and have a piece of apple pie. Even though Joe was pretty full after the big lunch he'd had, the pie was delicious, and he enjoyed it, thinking that Hoss had really drawn the short straw by staying home at the ranch. He complimented Madeline on her baking and she thanked him with a small smile, but Joe had a feeling that something very odd was going on between the others—especially with his older brother and Paul. He got the sense that his father and the doctor were sharing a joke about something he wasn't aware of, and he also caught onto the fact that Adam didn't seem to find whatever it was very funny.

If there had been any doubts in Joe's mind about how his oldest sibling felt about Madeline Delaney, they vanished completely during the ride home to the ranch. The Adam riding next to him now was completely different to the quiet and fatigued brother who'd ridden into town a few hours earlier. His demeanor was serene, disturbingly so, and it seemed almost like he was floating atop the saddle. And then there was that silly smile that kept appearing on his face every few minutes. Joe only hoped it would last the whole ride back home, so Hoss could see it too and so they could laugh, tease and rejoice in it together.


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello guys! So, this is a short chapter, but the next one is long and has a lot going on in it. I will post it as soon as possible, just doing finishing touches. Again, your reviews really make my day, I so enjoy reading them. They keep me going. Thank you all._

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

Adam's mood was greatly improved after his visit to Virginia City and everyone in the family felt it. The following day turned out to be one of the best days Hoss and Joe could remember having with their older brother since he returned home. Although it was Sunday, they decided to skip church and instead went up to the lake—the place they all held more sacred than anywhere else. They spent the day fishing, joking around and even singing a little, which inadvertently scared the fish away. And they each spent time just being quiet; breathing in the divine, fresh air and taking in the magnificent sight of pine trees and mountains reflected in the calm water.

To Joe, it felt almost like he was a kid again as he sat there between his brothers on the rocky lake shore, feeling relaxed and happy. On his left side was Hoss—the person he had always been able to count on to cheer him up and liven up his day. The big, gentle hearted moose, whose loyalty was as great as his physical strength, who had protected Joe from any kind of harm all his life whether he wanted it or not. Hoss was the other constant in his life except for his pa.

And then, as Joe looked to his right side, there was Adam. His unbreakable oldest brother who'd in many ways been like a second father to him. The one he'd always looked to for guidance when his pa wasn't around and the one he'd gone to with problems he couldn't take anywhere else. Yes, unbreakable, that was the word for Adam. As far as Joe knew, his older brother hadn't yet faced a problem that couldn't be outwitted or a hindrance that couldn't be overcome.

Times like these made Joe think about how much he'd taken them for granted, those brothers of his. It was hard being the youngest; he'd always felt like that, but he'd also reached an age now where he could logically recognize that it would have been a darn sight harder being the oldest. While he still resented their teasing and babying him, his conscience nagged him about the times he hadn't treated them as well as he probably should have. Especially Adam.

He'd had a lot more clashes with Adam over the years than with Hoss because, boy, his oldest sibling sure knew how to get under a fella's skin.

But Joe would never forget how he'd longed for Adam to correct him, tease him and even give him a dressing-down during those four years of being apart. He'd prayed desperately for his brother to return home safely someday to do all of those things.

There had been one night, a couple of years after Adam left, where Joe had woken from a terrifying nightmare. He'd seen his brother's death—something which unfortunately wasn't an uncommon event in his dreams at the time. But that particular night was different. He'd been there, on a big, green field and he saw Adam felled by a bullet to the chest, fired from an invisible foe's gun. He watched as Adam choked on his own blood, as he lay there gasping for help, stretching out a shaking arm towards him. The worst thing was, that Joe couldn't move at all in the dream. He stood rooted to the ground, unable to help or comfort his suffering brother and desperate to wake up from the horrific sight.

When he'd finally escaped his nightmare, his pillow was wet with tears and he started sobbing.

His father came into his room eventually, although Joe never knew when. He just remembered clinging to those strong arms, not caring about how much he wanted to be treated like a grown man because at that instant, he was a frightened boy. It was probably impressive that his pa was able to make out the wrecked noises and broken words he got out, but that deep voice simply mumbled, _"It's okay, Joe. I understand. It's going to be all right," and_ soothed him until the worst was over.

That was when Joe said how sorry he was for everything—for the arguments and for the way he'd sometimes treated Adam before he left. He begged his father to forgive him because he was afraid that he would never get the chance to make it up to his oldest brother. But to Joe's confusion, his pa shed his own tears then and said that he had nothing to be sorry for because Adam had also been to blame for their quarrels.

" _Joe, all young men have phases of rebellion. Adam wasn't always patient and understanding enough of that with you, probably because he wasn't shown those things as often as he should have been in his own youth."_

At the time, the words had made Joe feel a bit better, but the guilt still carried with him, even to now where he knew that he was beyond lucky to be sitting next to Adam again.

Joe looked out across the water, pondering over the memory that was still so clear in his mind when a voice to his left suddenly ripped him back to the present.

"Somethin' wrong, shortshanks?"

Turning to Hoss, Joe stared dumbly at him. "Huh?"

"You're just lookin' awful serious. I bet you're scarin' all them fish away with that brooding mood."

Joe's ears reddened when he felt Adam's penetrating eyes settle on him from his other side.

"You okay, Joe?"

"Sure, I'm okay," he said quickly, moving a few pebbles with his boot. "Can't a fella concentrate on catching a fish? If there are even any left on this side of the lake after your singing, Hoss"

With a laughing grunt, Hoss stuck the wooden pole his fishing line was tied to down in between some rocks.

"Them fish appreciated me singing to 'em, I can tell ya. It musta been you skippin' stones that sent them runnin' for the hills."

"I don't believe that phrase can be applied to finned creatures."

"Swimmin' for the hills then, Adam, will that make ya happy?"

Glancing to his right, Joe saw the usual half smile playing on Adam's lips as he watched his fishing line. The three brothers sat in companionable silence for a while until a high-pitched eagle's cry from above made them look up. The bird sailed gracefully through the air and as Joe's eyes followed it, he noted how far across the sky the sun had progressed.

"Hop Sing sure won't be impressed if the three of us come home with nothing."

"Mmm," Adam hummed, also studying the eagle. "He probably won't even bother with supper."

Joe looked over at him, catching the little playful glimmer in his gaze.

"Yea, I guess you're right, Adam. After all, we said we'd bring home fish. And it's getting real late."

Listening to his brothers, Hoss shifted uneasily on the chair-shaped rock he'd found himself, his eyebrows bumping up his furrowed forehead.

"You really think ol' Hop Sing won't put somethin' else together? I mean we can't go to bed hungry dadgummit!"

Adam leisurely stretched out his long legs. "I wouldn't worry, Hoss. We won't be forced to sleep on an empty stomach, you know he always keeps cans of beans at hand for emergencies."

"Yea," Joe broke in, "and there's still some chicken left over for . . . oh, about half a sandwich, I think."

That prospect was obviously unappealing to Hoss and his shoulders sagged as he studied the slack line.

"Sunday meals are usually extra special. I look forward to 'em all week . . ."

Adam's eyes met Joe's, quietly conveying that the teasing wasn't over yet.

"Maybe you should try serenading the fish again. I bet they'll be ready to jump right out of the water when they hear those melodious vocal skills of yours."

That drew a loud cackle from Joe and he threw his head back, releasing it up into the air.

"Dang it Little Joe, you quit that right now or them fish won't ever come near here!"

Hoss grabbed at his giggling little brother in an attempt to silence him when Adam's excited voice called out across the still water.

"Hoss! Your fishing line!"

"Doggone you Adam, you stop that yellin' or we ain't never gonna—"

"HOSS! You've got a bite! Grab the line!"

Hoss turned to stare blankly at the taut fishing line, his hands still on Joe's arms as Adam made a mad dash to crawl past his youngest brother. Somehow, he ended up sprawled across Joe instead—kneeing the younger man in the stomach which elicited a grunt of pain—and then they both gaped in wide-eyed fascination when Hoss suddenly leaped up, tripped over a rock and spun in the air like an acrobat in the direction of the tilting fishing pole. He hit the graveled ground hard but managed to latch onto the pole just as it jiggled free from the rocks. What followed was a brief but entertaining struggle, which provoked a string of grunts and cuss-words from the big man until finally—a huge trout flipped out of the water and landed on the shore.

A nudge to his ribs reminded Adam that his kid brother was still trapped underneath him and they both got up and went over to admire the flapping fish.

"Well, I'll be . . . I told ya they were in there! See, now we just gotta catch ourselves a few of his pals."

"Sure, Hoss," Adam said, patting him on the back, "but I doubt we'll catch anything as big as him. He's a beauty."

"Sure is," Joe agreed.

"Well, we ain't gonna catch nothin' by standing here gawking." Hoss knelt beside the fish and pointed up at his brothers. "Now Joe, you get back to watching them poles and Adam, you get to singin'. The thought of beans for supper is just plain disturbin'."

Adam stood straight and saluted his younger sibling before heading off to do as he'd been told.

Joe smiled, watching them both and he took a moment to savor the deep feeling of gratitude running through him. Overprotective and irritating as they could be, he knew that he had the best two brothers anyone could wish for. There were so many families across the country who weren't fully reunited and they never would be—except for in heaven, maybe. Far too many brothers would never be back to annoy their other siblings.

There was nothing he could do about any of that, but as Joe followed Adam, he vowed to cherish these special moments with his family.


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Notes_

 _Here we are, as promised, a long chapter. This one caused me some trouble (and underwent a few rewrites), but I decided to just post it now as it is. Hopefully, you will like it._

 _Thank you all for reading and reviewing._

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

 **August 8, 1865**

Wednesday the following week, Adam made another trip to Virginia City. He'd gone to collect the mail at the post office, noticing that there was a letter there from Washington D.C. addressed to him. He knew it had to be from Jim and it wasn't a message he'd ever want to read anywhere else than back at home in privacy, so he'd packed it in his saddlebags along with the rest of the mail.

When he was halfway to Paul's house a little while later, it occurred to him that he'd headed in that direction without even thinking about it. The thought of going to town and _not_ stopping by to see Madeline . . . well, that was something he suddenly couldn't see himself doing. One thing Adam knew was, that it was very important to him—being welcome at the doctor's house. It was important that Madeline wanted to see him and he'd accepted his own need to be with her. Paul was another matter entirely, and Adam wasn't really sure how his old friend felt about the blossoming relationship between himself and Madeline.

When he arrived at the house, he tied Sport outside as usual and took the porch stairs two at a time. He decided to knock once and let himself in as he'd been used to doing at Paul's before he'd left for the war. He called out a greeting as he came into the foyer and the doctor's voice beckoned him into the sitting room.

"Hello, Adam. I was wondering when you'd be showing up this week."

Paul sat in his burgundy chair, scribbling notes onto one of the many papers strewn out on the table in front of him.

"If it's inconvenient, I can come back another time," Adam said, walking into the room. "I just wanted to say hi to Madeline."

"Oh, I am touched, my friend."

"You know what I mean, Paul." Adam smiled and sat down on the settee opposite the doctor. He laid his hat on a clear corner of the table and read a few words on one of the papers. "Is that work? How come you're not in your office?"

Paul finished writing the sentence he was in the middle of and looked up at the Cartwright for the first time.

"I came in here to provide some moral support to Madeline. She has been like a little nervous bird all morning."

"Nervous?" Adam leaned forward. "About what?"

"Well, she has a social club meeting this afternoon . . ." The doctor's speech dissolved into a mutter as something came to his mind which he needed to write down.

"And? There's something more?" Adam probed, making Paul look up again.

"Ah, yes. She ran into the McCoy sisters the other day and Maisy told her about this annual dressmaking contest that the club is having on Thursday." Paul scratched his temple with the pen. "Well, that's tomorrow now . . . anyway, Maisy urged her to enter a dress in the competition. I'm fairly certain that my modest niece wouldn't even have considered it, if not for the fact that Maisy was most insistent and has apparently told some of the other women of her talent."

Shaking his head, he continued, "One thing that Madeline is truly terrible at, is saying no. She is so concerned about disappointing people, so she reluctantly agreed and now she has been fretting ever since, trying to finish her new dress for this afternoon. The judging is tomorrow."

"Paul, she is very gifted. Whatever this new dress looks like, I'm sure she has no reason to worry."

"I know that, and you know it, but try convincing _her_ of it."

Reclining back against the backrest of the settee again, Adam contemplated what he'd been told. A couple of minutes passed, then he shook himself free of his thoughts and looked across at his friend.

"Where is she now, Paul?"

The doctor had returned to his scribbling and waved in an undefinable direction with his free hand.

"In the end I couldn't take anymore of her fussing, so I told her to go and put the thing on and promised that I would give my honest opinion. She'll probably be down in a minute."

It was quite comical really, that the doctor had barely finished speaking when the two men heard her come down the staircase in the hall. She suddenly appeared in the doorway, her attention fixed on the sleeve she was adjusting.

"All right now. Remember, you promised you'd be—" She broke off when she looked up. "Adam . . ."

Nothing could have possibly prepared him for the sight of her. He sprang up from the settee just as Paul dropped his pen which rolled along the papers and landed on the carpet. Adam's mouth opened, but for the life of him he couldn't form actual words. Slowly, he dragged his gaze across her body, taking in the remarkable dress. He recognized the emerald green material at once, but even though she'd described her ideas for the dress when he'd purchased the silk for her, this was far beyond anything he could have envisioned. The large skirt appeared quite simple in the sense that it wasn't adorned with details such as bows or ribbons, yet the cascading tiers and numerous, flowing gatherings had a dramatic and eye-catching effect. He was losing himself in the deep green color, but then noticed the delicate gold patterns spreading vertically downwards to the base of the dress—like gold branches stretching out across a green canvass. The golden decoration was clearer where it decked the bodice and Adam's eyes lingered on her slim waste for longer than they probably should have. Short puff sleeves clung to her upper arms, gathering just above her elbows and the curves of her shoulders were laid completely bare. Finally, he beheld the rose-patterned white lace which ran along her bust-line and if he'd been anywhere close to regaining his equilibrium, the sight of her plunging neckline set him straight back to being a tongue-tied mess.

This was one occasion where Paul found no amusement in Adam's stupor since the doctor was just as stunned as the young man to his side. Madeline looked down at herself, discouraged by the two men's silence.

"I realize that one wouldn't wear such a dress very often around these parts . . . but Maisy said that the goal was to make a proper ball gown. Or at least something that resembles one."

Adam felt her insecurity and made a strong effort to pull himself together.

"Madeline, you look . . . it's spectacular . . ."

She raised her head and his eyes bore into hers as he tried to convey the utter admiration and awe that he lacked the words to describe.

"I agree," Paul mumbled, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I am quite speechless, my Belle . . ."

"Do you think they will like it?" she asked as she smoothed down the skirt. "The ladies from the dress shop are entering dresses for the contest and they are all so very talented. I hear that a woman who works at a successful clothes-shop in New York will be judging the competition tomorrow. Apparently, she is a friend of Mrs. Stewart."

"Hmm." Paul looked a little perturbed and stuck his hands in the pockets of his grey vest. "I hope this woman doesn't try to whisk you away to New York and offer you a job. You clearly have a winner here."

"Uncle Paul, I have no chance or wish to win this contest." She smiled humbly, her eyes green as the dress—bright and honest. "Just having my dress on display alongside the beautiful creations the other ladies will come up with will be an honor in itself."

Facing Adam, her cheeks heated when she saw the engrossed way he was observing her.

"I must thank you again, Adam, for gifting me this wonderful material. It was truly a joy to work with."

"You're welcome, Madeline. And believe me . . ." he paused, a cheeky curl pulling at one side of his mouth as he allowed himself another slow, appreciative look-over of her. "I'm being paid back ten times over right now."

She dipped her head shyly, gazing up at him and he reveled in the generous brush of those dark lashes. The sudden electric atmosphere between the two threatened to fry the good doctor standing in the middle of it.

"Ahem . . . I think some coffee would be quite in order right about now. Adam, perhaps you would like to help me prepare some in the _kitchen_ while Madeline gets changed again, hmm?"

It may have been phrased as a question, but when Adam unglued his sight from Madeline, he realized that he would indeed be going to the kitchen one way or another—Paul would make sure of it.

"Okay, Paul." His words were directed at the doctor, but he didn't move, he just looked back at Madeline again.

She was having a hard time holding in her laughter when her uncle's eyebrows compressed together above the rest of his already tense face.

"Well, come on then, lad! We haven't all day."

With a rather insistent push to the younger man's back, Paul got Adam moving towards the doorway, but he missed the little wink that was delivered to Madeline on the Cartwright's way out of the room.

Standing in the sitting room, she listened to them walk down the hall and she folded her hands across her stomach, attempting to settle the tickling uproar going on inside her. Her head tipped back as she offered a heartfelt smile to the heavens.

 _Oh_ , _goodness, he is so charming_!

The nerves that had been plaguing her all morning were now replaced by the warm, riveting feeling that took over her body whenever she was with him. Spinning around, she headed into the hall and for the stairs, determined to change quickly so she could join them for coffee. She'd hoped that he would stop by soon and she was excited to share the news of her new job at Sally Piper's restaurant with him. In a few hours she would be heading off to the social club's meeting place—"The Western Women's lodge"—and thanks to Adam, she was actually beginning to look forward to it.

xXXx

It was four o'clock in the afternoon and Virginia City's C Street was unusually busy for a Wednesday. The reason was, that there was to be a show at Maguire's Opera House in the evening which had drawn many folks into town. The local restaurants and hotels were packed with parties of people sharing dinner before going to the event. The festive mood of the town was not shared by everyone though, but few would have noticed the lone, young woman's heavy gait and quiet demeanor.

"Madeline, wait!"

Madeline halted on the boardwalk, struggling to breathe past the painful lump in her throat. She pressed the ribbon box hard against her chest and steeled herself before turning around. When she did, she saw Maisy hastening towards her, the girl's shoes clattering across the wooden floorboards. The redhead came to a stop and her usually chirpy face looked contrite.

"I am so sorry about what happened, Madeline. I truly hadn't imagined that they would react like that . . ."

"It's all right, this isn't your fault." Madeline forced a small smile and spoke kindly to the younger woman. "I am hardly in a position to disagree with their decision. Really, it's fine."

"But Madeline, they were terrible to you!" Maisy's hands fiddled with each other as she ducked her head. "If only I hadn't convinced you to enter a dress in this contest . . ."

"Maisy, please don't concern yourself." Madeline shifted the box onto one arm and reached out with the other to still the girl's fidgeting. "At the meeting last week, I got the impression that not all the ladies were in favor of my presence there. I probably should have been prepared for what happened today. It really isn't your fault."

"I wish things were different. I wanted to say something, I really did, but . . . I just . . ."

"I understand." Madeline withdrew her hand and straightened her back. "Thank you for all your kindness. Perhaps we will see each other around town still. I hope you will come by Sally Piper's restaurant sometime, I'll be working there four days a week."

"Yes," Maisy said, a blush spreading beneath her freckles. "I will . . .try to stop by."

The last thing Madeline wanted was to put the young girl in an awkward situation with the women at the club, so she adopted a light attitude, overlooking the fact that the blue eyes wouldn't meet her own.

"As I say, _if_ you should get the time. I realize that you are a very busy young lady." That made Maisy's head drop even lower, but Madeline continued, smiling genuinely. "Have a pleasant evening, Maisy."

"I—" The younger woman made a fleeting attempt to look up, but offered empty, muted words instead. "Thank you, and you too, Madeline."

Madeline turned and fought to make her walk appear self-assured and unaffected as she continued down the boardwalk. It seemed an impossibly long trek back to her uncle's house and although her legs were moving, she felt strangely detached from her physical self as hurtful comments and mocking looks replayed through her mind. The earlier joy and confidence she'd built up after spending almost two hours in Adam's company had been ripped out of her heart and smeared all over the busiest street in town for everyone's entertainment. At least that's what it felt like to her at that moment.

When a voice called out to her, a voice she'd come to cherish, a sense of wobbling relief fused with sudden panic gripped her.

"Hey, Madeline!"

She stopped and turned sideways, watching as Adam loped across the street to her. He jumped up onto the wooden floor and smiled broadly.

"I didn't think you'd heard me."

"Hi Adam," she said, giving him a glimpse of her dimples. "I thought you were going back to the ranch?"

"Yea but, uhm, I stopped to have a refreshment . . ."

He seemed a little hesitant then, but she didn't know why and she glanced across the street to where he'd just come from. She saw Sport tied outside the Bucket of Blood saloon and guessed that Adam was unsure about what she thought of such establishments.

"I bumped into my friend Dave from the _Territorial Enterprise_ and yea, we got to talking and suddenly more than an hour had gone by."

"Well, you must have had a nice time together then." There was mild humor in her tone, but the next thing she said was sincere as her expression. "He seems like a nice gentleman, Mr. Howell, and he is a good friend from what I hear."

"Yea, old Dave isn't all that bad."

It was quite funny to her, seeing how he visibly relaxed with the knowledge that she didn't mind him frequenting saloons. There was a brief silence, then his sight flickered down and landed on the box in her arms.

"Weren't you all supposed to leave the entries overnight for the judging tomorrow?"

"Yes, well, I decided not to enter the contest after all. There were so many wonderful dresses, more than enough, really. Perhaps I will enter next year."

She managed to keep her voice convincingly cheerful and looked down at the box to readjust the perfectly centered blue ribbon.

"Madeline?"

At the best of times, it took quite some effort for her to handle that penetrating hazel gaze and prevent all her darkest secrets from spilling out. The situation now, did not qualify as even a good time and although part of her craved the care she knew was reflected in his eyes, she couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She clasped the box harder.

"Yes . . .?"

"Tell me what happened."

"I don't know what you mean, Adam." To her dismay, her voice shook as she said his name. It took a moment for her to compose herself before she attempted to continue. "I simply didn't care to enter the contest after all."

His warm hand was suddenly on her back and he gently guided her away from the busy street and people—closer to the building they were standing outside of.

"Now, tell me what happened."

She stared at the box as if she wanted to crawl into it, her heart beating painfully in her chest and then he brought her fragile defense crashing down with one simple word.

"Please . . ."

When she lifted her chin, she saw pure concern and care for her in his intense expression. Amazingly, she calmed in an instant and the hurt that had been eating away at her for the last half an hour seemed to diminish.

"It is of no matter now. I was dismissed from the competition, the ladies of the board agreed on it."

He frowned and leaned closer to her. "But why?"

"I suppose it was mostly Mrs. Stewart's opinion that was the deciding factor . . . but there is no need to dwell on it now."

"What did she say?"

Madeline studied him closely and she sensed that he not only wanted but _needed_ to hear the details. As she related them to him, she spoke steadily and without shame, her eyes unwavering from his.

"Since I have only been here for a few months, Mrs. Stewart argued that I had no place in the contest because I am not what she considers a proper part of Virginia City's community. She also said, that because of my southern roots, my comprehension of this town's values is lacking, as is my appreciation for its ideals and therefore, it would be inappropriate if I took part in the competition."

The following seconds stretched out between them as he stared at her.

"She . . . what?" he finally got out.

Madeline sighed, resettling the box in her arms.

"I am not sure how many of the other women actually agreed with what Mrs. Stewart said, certainly not all of them, I hope. But she is the president of the association and she has made a decision."

Adam was quiet, and when Madeline peered back up at him, she was very surprised to notice that his features were set in a way she'd never seen before. He was looking down at his boots, both hands on his hips and his mouth was pressed tightly together. The black hat hid the top half of his face and she was suddenly mesmerized by the way his rugged jaw was clenching, the muscles working in his cheek.

Abruptly, he snapped his head back up and held out a hand.

"May I have that?"

She wordlessly handed him the dress box which he took under one arm.

"I'm going to pay Mrs. Stewart a visit. Would you like to come with me or would you rather wait for me here?"

Madeline's eyes grew wide, but the look on his face left her in no doubt about his intention.

"Adam, there is no need for this . . . it's only a silly contest . . ."

"We go together then."

Before she could get out another word, he gripped her hand firmly and set out on something close to a march down the boardwalk—in the direction of the club's lodge house.

"Adam please, this really isn't necessary! I don't want to cause any trouble . . ."

"I'm sorry, Madeline, but I can't let this pass. Any trouble will be on me, not you."

His tone was completely devoid of emotion, yet his words were uncompromising. Madeline struggled to keep up with him, totally bewildered by his reaction. The thought of what was about to happen mortified her, but at the same time, the masculine aggressiveness emanating from him and the feeling of his strong hand gripping hers, made an odd sensation settle low in her belly. It was unfamiliar, but not exactly unpleasant, and she could do nothing but follow his lead on shaky legs. She unknowingly nestled closer to his strength when she noticed people watching them.

"Adam, people are looking . . ."

"Let them look."

Across the street, Paul had just been to visit a patient and was on his way to look in on young Lisa Banner's broken foot. The doctor came to a standstill when he eyed Adam and Madeline and he lifted a hand, about to catch their attention with a yell. He froze though, when he registered the dark Cartwright's expression. It was one he knew well—he'd known Adam since he was a boy—but Paul hadn't seen this side of him since before the war. He noticed that people were observing the couple and several cowboys subtly removed themselves from the sidewalk or well, basically from Adam's path.

Paul Martin was known for his perceptive nature among his friends, and as the doctor noted Madeline's obvious hesitance, the dress box under Adam's arm and the general direction they were heading, he was able to form a vague idea about the situation. He was a little startled by the sheer power of the sudden urge he felt to go to his distressed niece. It was still fairly new to him, experiencing these paternal emotions she evoked within him. What was more surprising though, was that he remained still, simply watching them disappear down the street. He had a feeling that whatever the trouble was, Madeline needed Adam more than him at that moment, and Adam needed to be there for her. A sense of acceptance flooded over him, and he embraced it, albeit grudgingly. In his heart he knew that there was no man whom he trusted more to take care of his niece than Adam Cartwright.

xXXx

Madeline inhaled deeply when they neared the Western Women's Lodge, but she made no attempt to dissuade Adam from entering the building. She was pretty sure that it would be useless. Her assumption was correct, and he went straight to the door, opening it without knocking. They stepped into the entrance hall and he gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. He then strode into the main room where the sound of women's chatter and giggles could be heard, and Madeline followed him. Her anxiety grew when she saw that although the meeting had ended five minutes ago, the women were still all there, dotted around in groups all over the big room. It was almost like the ladies sensed a man's sudden presence and a dreadful few seconds followed when heads began turning towards them. Madeline stood tall under their scrutiny—Adam's support giving her the courage to do so—and she caught a glimpse of Maisy's startled face but otherwise avoided direct eye contact with anyone.

Mrs. Stewart was standing with a group of women by the table which held all the dress entries for the competition. Adam wasted no time and went straight over there with Madeline beside him.

"Mrs. Stewart," he acknowledged, paying no mind to the other women. "We have an entry for the dressmaking competition."

The elderly lady turned around and immediately went slack-jawed.

"Mr. Cartwright, what—"

"I understand that Miss Delaney's dress was dismissed from the contest," Adam interrupted without so much as blinking. "I've come to rectify that mistake."

Mrs. Stewart's face went through an interesting transformation from shock to frowning comprehension when she noticed the dress box under Adam's arm. Her features finally settled on unveiled disdain as she regarded Madeline.

"Mr. Cartwright, I am compelled to explain something to you. We, the women of the board, have unanimously decided—"

"Mrs. Stewart," Adam cut in, drilling her with a cool stare. "Allow _me_ to explain something to _you_. Firstly, you should know that we're standing here now at my insistence, not Miss Delaney's, because I, for one, am unwilling to accept the unjust treatment she has been subjected to by you. Secondly, I recall that when you founded this association, you proclaimed that this would be a club open to all women of Virginia City. Well, I can assure you that Miss Delaney is very much a woman of this town and that she cares deeply about its people. Her work as a nurse and her participation in various charity events are proof of that. Thirdly, she is a relative of one of the most well-liked and respectable citizens around these parts and I have no doubt that many people will benefit from her presence here just as they have from doctor Martin's. She has more than earned her place in our society and I can safely say that my opinion on this matter is shared by my family since we all consider her a close friend."

Everyone's attention was riveted on him and Madeline was honestly just as stunned as the other women by the scene that was unfolding, and she was at the center of it all. Mrs. Stewart was too taken aback to formulate any kind of response and Adam showed no mercy as he continued on.

"As for your judgment that Miss Delaney's heritage somehow prevents her from appreciating this community's values and ideals, well, let me tell you that you're sorely mistaken. The fact that you would make such a statement shows that you know nothing at all about her. Remember, this town was built by men and women from both the North _and_ the South, you were there, Mrs. Stewart. It is opinions such as yours which will delay and maybe even prevent the healing of this country."

His voice had been measured and controlled throughout the duration of the smooth delivery, and a deafening silence filled the room as his profound speech died away. Mrs. Stewart looked as if his words had physically struck her; she was red as a beet and her mouth flapped open and closed several times like a fish out of water. When she looked down in a clear attempt to escape his unrelenting gaze, Madeline actually began to feel sorry for the older woman.

"Now, unless you can present me with a valid reason why Miss Delaney should not be allowed to enter this contest, then I expect you to reverse her disqualification. _Right_ _now_."

The atmosphere reached a peak of tension as the women waited to hear Mrs. Stewart's reply.

"Why I-I . . . yes, of course," she said and clumsily adjusted her huge, feathered hat to avoid looking at him. "I believe this has all been . . . a most terrible misunderstanding."

Adam's eyes narrowed, but then Madeline quickly broke in.

"Then I'm glad we have cleared things up now, Mrs. Stewart."

The elderly lady's head twisted towards Madeline, plainly astonished that the most unlikely person had come to her aid. Madeline offered her a gracious smile even though it didn't quite meet her eyes as her smiles usually did. Adam stayed still, his piercing stare never leaving the old woman.

"Yes, I . . . if you would just fill out your name over here, Miss Delaney, so that we can register you properly."

Mustering up what dignity she had left, Mrs. Stewart walked around to the other side of the table where some papers lay next to the dress entries. Madeline felt a gentle touch on her arm and took the dress box when Adam held it out to her.

"I'll wait for you outside, okay?"

His tone had suddenly lost its hard edge as he addressed her, and she knew that he wouldn't leave the room unless he was sure that she would be okay alone.

"Yes, all right. I will only be a minute."

Apparently satisfied with what he saw in the look of reassurance she gave, he nodded curtly. He faced the rest of the room and the still astounded group of women.

"Ladies . . ."

With a mannerly tip of his hat, he sauntered across the floor and disappeared out the door.

xXXx

A couple of minutes later, Madeline came out of the lodge and saw Adam standing with his back to her by the rail of the boardwalk. He probably felt that she was there because he half-turned.

"Shall I escort you home?"

"Only if you have the time . . ."

He put out his hand, indicating that she should go first, and a frown bloomed across her face when he kept his eyes directed downwards.

The walk back to her uncle's house was what she could only describe as strange. Not a word was said between them and he did not offer his arm to her as he usually did. Madeline kept stealing sideways glances at him, but his sight stayed fixed ahead and the faint lines across his brow made her wonder what he was thinking. The stretched silence gave her time to go over what had happened in the last twenty minutes since he'd run across the street to her from the saloon. It felt as though in that short time, something had fundamentally changed between them. Not in a bad way . . . or at least, she hoped it wasn't. But things were just different.

She'd seen a new side of him, one that somehow helped her to have a deeper understanding of his character and his reputation around town. Being the owners of the illustrious Ponderosa, the Cartwrights were naturally a great source of gossip in Virginia City and Madeline had inevitably overheard people talk about the family. While Adam was generally regarded as a decent and upstanding man, he was also someone who people wanted to avoid crossing at all costs, and today Madeline had seen why.

A soft smile spread over her lips and she chanced another look at him. Yes, he did have a temper . . . but it wasn't like the raging, turbulent kind that she'd sadly seen far too much of. Adam's temper, veiled by calmness and self-control, was the type that generated such a forceful air of intimidation around him, that it was ten times more effective than any amount of shouting or flailing arm movements. Suddenly, a shiver vibrated down her back. He had defended her honor. He'd gripped her hand so tightly, giving no thought as to what people might think, and he'd physically and verbally stated his solid support and high regard for her. She had never felt so protected in all her life. It was an entirely new feeling for her.

Now though, as she walked next to him, she felt confused and didn't dare take in the exhilaration building inside her. Something was clearly wrong, and when her uncle's house came into view, he still hadn't said anything or even looked at her. They climbed the stairs and she stood uncertainly on the porch.

"Would you like to come in for a moment?"

"Yes, I would. Thank you."

They went into the foyer and Madeline walked through to the sitting room as she removed the pin holding her blue felt hat in place. She took off the hat and brushed the decorative peacock feathers before finally setting it down on the upholstered bench next to her sewing items. When she turned around, Adam was watching her, his Stetson twisting in his hands, and his regretful expression was not at all what she'd expected to see.

"Madeline, I have to apologize to you . . ."

She blinked at him, her initial confusion evolving into full blown bafflement.

"I'm sorry if you felt that I forced you into an unwanted confrontation with those women . . . and for interfering in your affairs." He took a step closer to her, throwing his hat on the burgundy chair.

"It's just that I . . . the thought of you being treated that way by anyone . . ." He scratched at the nape of his neck. "Well anyway, it wasn't my place to behave like that."

A wave of affection surged through her, washing away the worry she had tried to hold at bay. Left behind was only that burning glow which arose inside her whenever he was around, a warmth kindled by his simple nearness.

"Adam, please, you have nothing to apologize for. What you did was . . . well, I haven't the words to express what it meant to me." She held his eyes, communicating her sincerity. "I wasn't offended by your behavior. Actually, I thought it was quite . . . chivalrous . . ."

She could see how his unease gradually subsided, but something in his gaze seemed to intensify and oddly enough, she already knew what he was going to ask next.

"There have been other incidents like what happened today, haven't there?"

"Yes . . ."

"That day at the general store . . .?"

"I have plenty of good memories from that day to quell one small, unpleasant episode with a few ill-mannered ladies."

She smiled at him, but it wasn't enough to overcome his serious countenance and his broad shoulders lifted and fell.

"I suppose Paul doesn't know about this?"

That struck something in her and a pleading note snuck into her voice. "No Adam, and you mustn't tell him, please. He would be so very upset . . ."

" _Paul_ would be upset?"

He stared at her as if he thought he'd misheard something. When he realized that he hadn't, the disbelief in his hazel pools turned to exasperation and for the second time that day, his hands flew to his hips.

"Madeline, this isn't fair to you! Paul would be saddened, yes, but he would want to know about what's going on."

"But I—"

"You shouldn't have to deal with this sort of thing, and especially not alone."

Madeline's brows pulled tightly together, and she reached out to remove one hand from his waist, the spontaneous gesture stressing the urgency of what she was about to say.

"Adam, there is a considerable amount of people in this town who support that the South should receive further punishment for what has happened over the course of this four-year nightmare. Truthfully, their animosity towards those who are held accountable for starting the war is as understandable as it is upsetting. You know this better than anyone." He looked away from her and she unconsciously stroked the back of his hand. "I am one of the lucky ones. There are people so much worse off on both sides of this conflict. Yes, I have been met with hostility, but also with kindness. I believe that the people who are acting less than charitable towards me and other southerners will eventually move forward and start looking to the future instead of the past. But it will take them time. They _need_ that time."

Her eyes flickered across his face, searching for any sign that he'd taken in what she'd said. At last, he turned to her again—his features calmer but his eyes now bright with wonder.

"How do you do that? You look at a problem from all perspectives . . . you find it in your heart to be understanding of everyone including those who are in the wrong—who haven't even treated you with common courtesy. Your compassion is . . ." He blew out a breath. "I honestly don't know whether to be awed or frustrated by it." Although they were standing so close, he still managed to move even closer to her. "I don't care about any of those other people, Madeline. I care about _you_."

Her hand went motionless on his as she gazed up at him, wide-eyed.

"I only care about you," he said.

An indescribable thrill ran through her. His voice sounded different now; there was a huskiness to it, making it even deeper, warmer somehow and a unique rush of heat, which had nothing to do with blushing, spread up her neck. She saw a peculiar look of realization sweep across his face, then he calmly bent his head down, and she instinctively closed her eyes as his mouth settled over hers. It started out as a light, warm caress on her lips, just like that day at Silver Creek. But now, after an afternoon filled with intense emotions and revelations on both their parts, she sensed that he needed something else—something more, and he pressed harder against her. His hands suddenly moved to her waist, and the cotton dress she wore was a decidedly inadequate defense against the burning sensation his touch evoked. She put her hands on his upper arms in an attempt to steady herself, but feeling his hard biceps under the smooth, black fabric only made the unfamiliar tingle in her belly increase and she fell slightly against him. When his coaxing tongue pushed against her sealed lips, she surprised herself as she parted them almost immediately, allowing him entrance into her mouth. The last trace of any conscious thought disappeared when his warm tongue danced around hers in eager exploration and she clung helplessly to his powerful frame, the taste of him enough to steal her breath away.

It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. So intimate, so personal it almost overwhelmed her. He was stirring untouched feelings whose existence she had been unaware of until now.

After a while, his movements became gentler again and he slowly, almost reluctantly pulled away from her face. Opening her eyes, she felt a little dizzy, but his hands were still on her hips, anchoring her in the turmoil of new emotions raging inside of her.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his eyes resting just below her own. "That was . . . I shouldn't have—"

"Don't, Adam. Don't apologize for . . . that."

She stroked her hands up his arms to reassure him, but also because she couldn't contain her own strong need to do it. It seemed to work because he levelled his gaze with hers. A smile formed on his lips, those lips that had captured hers with such need just seconds ago.

"Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow evening?" she asked with a smile of her own.

"Mmm. But after what I just did, I somehow doubt that your uncle will welcome my appearance."

"Oh Adam, don't say that, you know how fond he is of you," she said seriously, then flashed him a secret grin. "Anyway, I will refrain from telling him anything, you will be quite safe."

"I guess I'll risk it then."

He leaned forward, and she giggled into the quick kiss he placed on the side of her mouth. When he withdrew, he eyed her challengingly.

"Will you do something for me?"

"What is it?"

"Will you tell me if there are any other incidents like the one today? I want to know if you are treated like that again. By anyone—not just Mrs. Stewart and her friends."

She tilted her head to the side, touched and quietly amused by his protectiveness.

"And what will you do? Go knocking on doors all around town?"

"If that's what it takes."

There was no doubt in her mind that he meant it, but she forced some mild disapproval into her face.

"Okay, okay." He sighed. "I won't tell Paul anything and I won't confront anyone unless you give me your permission. But I would still like for you to tell me if anything happens. So you have someone to share it with at least."

"I suppose I can do that," she said softly.

"Good."

He relinquished his hold on her waist.

"I should get going now, Paul has already sent me home to the Ponderosa once today."

"Yes, that's probably a good idea . . . come by around six tomorrow evening?"

"I'll be here."

After grabbing his hat from the chair, he walked with her out into the hall and she saw him to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow. And good luck at the contest."

"Thank you."

She smiled as she watched him walk out onto the porch, bounce down the stairs and then head back towards the saloon to pick up Sport. When she closed the door, she leaned back against it, giving her giddy excitement free rein. However unexpected this day had turned out, all she could think about now was him, his kiss and the way he had once again touched her heart.

* * *

"Hey Pa! Here he comes!"

Ben set his book aside, abandoning the page he had reread four times with still no understanding of what was happening in the plot. Rising from his chair, he went outside through the open front door just as Adam dismounted in the yard.

"Welcome back, son," he called. "We were beginning to think you'd forgotten where the post office is located."

"Hi Pa," Adam said, removing his saddlebags. "No, I just stopped by Paul's and then had a drink at the saloon."

Hoss and Joe caught the last words as they walked over from where they'd been sawing wood. The brothers shared a sly look and Ben regarded his eldest with a similar expression.

"Mm-hmm. And how is he?"

"Who?"

"Paul, son."

"Ah. He's just fine."

Adam threw the saddlebags over his shoulder and met his smirking brothers with a blank face.

"Well Adam, seein' as you've been havin' a right fine time visitin' with _doc Martin_ and all"—Hoss unsubtly nudged Joe with an elbow and the two grinned wildly—"I figure it's only fair that you come and help us out with the wood that needs choppin'."

"Of course, Hoss. I'll be out in a minute, just let me get rid of this."

Giving them a friendly smile, he went straight past them and to the house.

The two younger brothers turned to each other, open-mouthed, and Ben chuckled as he followed after his firstborn.

When he came into the house, he saw Adam pulling out the mail from his saddlebags and placing it on the table by the fireplace. One letter in particular seemed to capture the young man's attention and he sat down in the blue chair while opening the cream-colored envelope. Ben walked over and went through the rest of the mail, but he glanced at his son frequently, trying to gauge his reaction to whatever was written on the paper in his hands. First, Adam smiled at the words, but as he continued to read, his forehead creased, and his eyes grew serious, giving Ben a bad feeling about what was to come. When his son eventually sat back in the chair, one hand rubbing across his mouth, Ben couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"Is something wrong, Adam?"

Adam faced him, looking a little dazed and Ben figured he'd probably thought that he was alone.

"No, Pa. Not really, I think . . ."

"You _think_?"

"I'm not sure yet. Well, it's confirmed, Jim says that my company is being sent here. At the moment the men are still on leave, but according to the plans they'll be coming here to strengthen the forts and deal with the Indian trouble. My guess is that they'll arrive here sometime in the fall."

Ben carefully rested a hand on the back of the settee, needing to steady himself. "I see . . . and you aren't sure how you feel about that?"

"No, I guess I'm not. It's a different part of my life, but one that still . . . matters. At least I think it does. And now it's coming here. It's hard to explain, Pa . . ."

"Yes, I imagine it is. This Mr. Wills who is the _new_ captain of your company . . ." Ben hesitated when he caught the flinch in Adam's eyes. It was tiny, but he saw it all the same. Yet he continued, his growing fear spurring him on to say the things he knew Adam didn't want to hear. What he knew would hurt him.

"He's a good soldier?"

"He is a great soldier," Adam replied quietly.

"Then he'll take good care of them. He learned from you."

He wasn't aware of it, but Ben held his breath as he waited for his son's response.

"Yea. I guess you're right."

Adam stood, dropping the letter carelessly onto the table.

"I better get outside and help those two with the firewood before they get all riled up at me."

"All right, son. Hop Sing is making beef for supper. Maybe you would like to take on your old man in a chess tournament later. I'll go easy on you, I promise."

His attempt at lighthearted joking didn't sit well with his hopeful expression, he knew that, but Adam just smiled. A thin smile.

"Sure, Pa."

Once his oldest son had left the room, Ben sank down onto the settee. He swallowed painfully when the fear he had been fighting so hard to suppress, seemed to break free. It wrapped around his heart, making him feel suddenly cold on a perfectly warm afternoon. He felt like he was engaged in a desperate tug of war with the army and that despite his efforts, his boy was slipping away from him. The thought made his throat constrict and he knew that he would do whatever he could to keep Adam home where he belonged. Even if it meant his resentment. At least he would be safe and alive on the Ponderosa.


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello everyone! I'm sorry about the delay on this chapter, but life has been busy. Here is a long one though, so I hope that makes up for it a bit._

 _I am so very excited about all the reviews from you, and I want to thank you all again, Members and Guests! It's a little daunting putting a first story out there, but your great feedback keeps me motivated and I will continue to do my best!_

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

"Madeline, do these biscuits look done to you?"

Paul glanced at his niece as she came over to take a look at the tray he had just removed from the oven.

"They look perfect! You are really getting the hang of this baking business, see?"

"Hardly, I only followed your instructions precisely. After I ruined the first two batches."

Madeline smiled at him and leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He appraised her with crinkling eyes as she went to check on the pot of vegetables boiling on the stove.

"You're certainly in a very good mood this evening."

"Well, it has been a very good afternoon," she said simply as she peeked at the carrots and green beans.

"Yes, I know. But what I meant to say was that you've been in high spirits all day." He walked over and sat down on one of the chairs by the table, which had already been set. "Actually, you've been like this ever since yesterday when I came home . . ."

She put the lid back on the pot and turned around to him. "I suppose I just . . . some things just fell into place yesterday and I realized that I have much reason to be happy, Uncle Paul. I have a home here with you, a new job at Sally's restaurant and I feel that I'm finally settling in here in Virginia City and making new acquaintances." A toothy smile appeared, and her eyelids lowered to half-closed. "And then there is Adam . . ."

"Yes. And then there is Adam." Paul watched her, and his voice was filled with tenderness. "It's so wonderful to see you doing so well, my Belle."

Her smile suddenly faded and she gave him a serious look. "None of this would be, if not for you."

"It was the best decision of my life, tracking you down, Madeline. Not just for your sake, but for my own as well."

"And I am forever grateful that you did."

The sides of her mouth quirked upwards again and she turned back to the stove to check the other pots.

"You know," Paul said, still observing her. "I believe you would have won that competition a second time with this one if you'd entered it."

He nodded at the cranberry-red dress she was wearing, admiring the delicate rosettes decorating the flounced skirt.

"Oh, this is quite a simple dress. As much as I love you, I believe it is just as well that you weren't judging that contest. I could have entered a cheap cotton flour-sack and you would still have announced me the winner."

"Madeline, you could walk down C Street _wearing_ a cheap cotton flour-sack and you would still be the most beautiful woman in the state."

He chuckled when her eyes widened at the very notion of her doing such a thing and the sound of a knock on the front door interrupted his fun. Paul frowned, pulling out his pocket watch.

"Well, I daresay he is showing exceptional punctuality these days. He never used to be like that when it was just me living here."

"Now, Uncle Paul . . ." Madeline faced him, crossing her arms. "You said that you would be nice . . ."

"I am a doctor, Madeline. I'm a nice man by nature." He rose from the chair. "And a patient one too. Lord knows, I need those qualities at this time in my life."

She shook her head with a little laugh, and he left her to watch things in the kitchen. Taking his time, he walked down the hall to the foyer and opened the front door. He was met by the sight of a clean-shaven Adam, dressed in black pants and a white shirt. Paul eyed the bouquet of red roses the young man was holding and quickly clasped a hand to his chest.

"Why Adam, you shouldn't have!"

Adam just smiled, unflustered.

"You look lovely this evening, Paul."

He tried, he really did, but Paul couldn't hold back his laugh at that and Madeline suddenly came up behind him.

"Hi, Adam . . ." She noticed the flowers and her eyes shone with delight. "Are those for me?"

Adam stepped closer and handed her the roses.

"Yes, we have a little flowerbed at the back of the house and Hop Sing takes good care of it. You look beautiful, Madeline."

"They are wonderful. Thank you . . ."

Paul shifted, sensing some odd, private communication pass between them and he wondered if he was imagining it.

"Come inside," Madeline said cheerfully, "supper is almost ready."

The doctor and Adam followed her to the kitchen, falling into that familiar, casual conversation that came so naturally after having known each other for more than fifteen years. While Madeline was rummaging around to find a vase for the flowers, the two men small-talked, but Paul could tell that there was something specific on Adam's mind and he already knew what it was. When the young man finally asked how the dressmaking competition had gone, Paul tipped his head up with a small smile as he looked over at his niece, waiting for her to share the news. Madeline set down the vase with the roses and looked shyly at Adam.

"It . . . yes, it went rather well . . . my dress was announced the winner."

Paul watched Adam's reaction closely, seeing him freeze for a second and then move over to Madeline in three quick steps.

"You won?!"

Madeline nodded, giggling a bit at his evident elation and he gripped both her hands tightly.

"We told you that dress was magnificent—now will you start believing how talented you are?"

"I honestly never expected to win, there were so many beautiful gowns . . ."

Paul harrumphed and spoke up then, letting his heartfelt pride soak his words.

"There was a 200-dollar prize for the winner, but Madeline decided to give the money to the club to use as they see fit."

Adam had glanced over at him, but then turned back to Madeline and the doctor would have had to be blind not to see the utter admiration aglow in the Cartwright's eyes.

"I know that the money will be put to good use there," Madeline said, dipping her head. "The club works hard to aid a number of charities and good causes."

"I am so happy for you, Madeline . . ."

When Paul saw his niece look up at Adam, he knew he wasn't imagining things. Something was definitely different between them. She wasn't blushing, and her eyes were fastened to his, the affection palpable in both their expressions. The doctor rubbed a palm along the side of his face, his mind churning as he tried to work out what on earth had happened and not to mention—when. Something must have taken place yesterday when he'd seen them walking down the street together. He hadn't revealed to Madeline that he'd seen them—he had hoped that she would tell him about it herself. Whatever it was though, Paul sensed that something had happened at the social club's meeting and it had meant some sort of change between Adam and her. As he watched them now, he remained quiet throughout their prolonged eye-contact until Madeline's gaze flickered over to him and she delicately pulled her hands free from Adam's.

Adam just stood there with a wide grin stuck on him, still so absorbed in his joy for her.

"And I am happy for you too, my dear," Paul said, trying to keep his confusion from showing. "You truly deserved to win. It's just a shame that we don't really have many events around these parts where you can show off that dress."

"Yea, I agree . . ."

The doctor faced Adam who was giving Madeline that smitten look again.

"So, Adam," he said, quite abruptly, motioning for him to sit down at the table, "How are things at the Ponderosa?"

He did catch the slightly exasperated smile his niece regarded him with, but Paul just sat down in a chair and waited, eyeing the young man. Adam took the rather unsubtle hint and walked over to sit down too. He then gave an update on things at the ranch and his family. While Paul listened, he couldn't miss the way Adam's attention seemed to still be on Madeline as she put the finishing touches on their supper and he got the feeling that he could vanish in a puff of smoke right then and there—and the Cartwright probably wouldn't even notice.

Paul _knew_ then, and it suddenly seemed ridiculously obvious. Over the years, he had seen Adam be captivated by maybe a handful of women. But this was something much more, on a whole different level. He had never witnessed Adam act the way he did now and it was all too clear, what it meant. But even though he was happy for his friend, just as he was for his beloved niece, there was a little pang of hurt in Paul's heart that couldn't be ignored and he wondered if it would ever really go away.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, Adam became a frequent guest at the doctor's house and often stayed for supper. Mostly, he came by on every second or third day but there never went more than four before he and Madeline saw each other. Paul occasionally gave him a bit of a hard time, but he couldn't help it despite the looks of displeasure Madeline aimed at him. Adam was undaunted though, and completely enraptured by this incredible southern belle who'd become the centerpiece of his life. He responded graciously to Paul's mild jabs and found time to challenge him to a few games of chess on those evening visits since he knew how much his old friend enjoyed the pastime.

Although Adam wasn't fully aware of it, his friends and family clearly saw the impact Madeline was having on him and especially Hoss and Joe were entertained by the very charitable side of his character she seemed to bring out. He simply didn't react as he usually would to their increased teasing and it was quite mind-boggling to see their tough older brother—who was known for his quite severe and serious demeanor—demonstrate such tolerance towards them as well as their mutual friends and the gossipers in town.

There was one afternoon where the two brothers had run into Roy in the saloon and during their talk, he'd relayed their oldest sibling's pie-making endeavor to them. The three men had shared a belly-aching laugh and when Hoss and Joe had confronted Adam about it later, he'd simply shrugged and said that the pie had turned out perfect.

Adam was indeed doing well. He didn't draw into himself as often and the days he went to visit Madeline were always good days for everyone around him. Whenever they had time for it, he would go to Virginia City and pick Madeline up in the surrey so they could take rides out to the Ponderosa. As the two spent more and more time together, his need for her continued to grow. When he was without her, he craved the sound of her voice, her laughter, her quick wit and natural calmness—everything about her. And he constantly longed to lose himself in the softness of her lips. It was like her simple presence eased the heavy burden he had been carrying around for so long that he'd forgotten what it felt like to be without it. Sometimes, when they visited Silver Creek, which had become one of Madeline's favorite places, he felt almost free of that crushing weight and he could spend hours with her, just soaking up that distant emotion blooming inside. Happiness.

She had become his refuge; she brought him as close as he could ever get to feeling carefree, at least as close as his reserved nature would allow. That also meant, that when a bad mood _did_ overcome him or when one of his still rarer nightmares was triggered—he felt that daunting weight pressing down even more than it had before he'd met her. On those occasions, he was caught in the dilemma of wanting to see her because he knew it would make him feel better, yet denying himself her comfort because of his fear that he would lose that tight control he kept on his inner demons.

As a soldier, he'd faced terrors that most people on the outside would never be able to grasp, but the idea of her seeing that side of him, the utter darkness he kept locked up inside, was one he found truly frightening. He was afraid of how she'd react if she knew about all that suffering—the pain he'd experienced and inflicted—that darkness within him. Yet a part of him wanted to tell her those things. And that in itself, was disconcerting to him.

When he wasn't with Madeline, Adam kept himself busy with working around the ranch but also spent time with his family. He kept in close contact with Jim, but he'd picked up on the fact that the correspondence seemed to bother his father. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong, but any time there was something in the mail for him, his pa would become quiet and when Adam wrote his own replies, he often felt the sharp coffee eyes on him. Whenever he asked his father if anything was the matter, the older man just dismissed the inquiry and busied himself with something or other. For that reason, Adam had taken to reading any army related letters in the privacy of his own room.

He continued to have mixed emotions about the conformation that his company was moving out west in a few months and it was impossible to prevent the speculations from forming in his head. At what fort would they be stationed? What type of military strategy against the Indians would be planned? Who would be handling the peace negotiations?

His family knew about Jim's letter, but what Adam had kept secret, was the other letter he had received from one of his friends—a general he'd known since West Point. General Thomas had very plainly stated that if Adam could possibly want it, he would be welcomed back to the army without hesitation. The strong encouragement entwined between the written words was apparent. General Thomas' letter, along with Jim's, stirred the nagging doubt that had been present in the back of Adam's mind for months. But he was finally home, reunited with his family and now he also had Madeline. As he took those things into consideration, he just couldn't see himself leaving all that behind.

He knew that he had fallen in love with her, it was as simple as that. It was one of the few things in his life that he was sure of. How he felt about Madeline. And he also knew, that he would be a fool to let her slip away from him. And he had no intention of letting that happen.

* * *

One Saturday afternoon in August, Paul drove his surrey into the yard of the Ponderosa house. Madeline waved at a pair of cowhands as they came out of the bunkhouse and the two men quickly took off their hats and nodded in greeting. Paul had just stepped down from the surrey when Ben came out of the house and walked towards them.

"Well, aren't you two a fine sight! It's so good to see you both!"

"Hello Ben," Paul said, holding up a hand to help Madeline down. "I know this business visit didn't really require a nurse, but I didn't think you'd mind that I brought this one along. She was most insistent. I wonder why."

Ben came over and placed both hands on Madeline's shoulders, giving them a little squeeze.

"Madeline, your loveliness is a very welcome diversion for me right now. I've been stuck working on some accounts since this morning. Though I doubt that I was the person you most came to see."

"You know I always enjoy seeing you, Ben," she said, smiling brilliantly at him. "But I won't deny that I came to see a particular man of your household today."

"Yes, I'm afraid he isn't here right now but—"

"Hop Sing," she interrupted.

Ben's mouth hung open as his hands dropped down to his sides and Madeline laughed, turning back to grab a package from the surrey.

"I have a little something for him."

She held the item in her arms and Ben chuckled as he met Paul's twinkling eyes.

"Well, I'm sure that Hop Sing will be very pleased to see you." Ben smiled and pointed over at the house. "I think he is hanging out some laundry around the back of the house. There's a door in the kitchen you can go out through. I better go with your uncle and help out. Harry has been dreading this doctor's visit all morning."

"If the old blockhead had stayed off that busted leg as I told him to last week, this visit wouldn't be necessary," Paul cut in and gripped the handle of his black doctor's bag. "I do believe he is my third worst patient." He turned to his friend, his face scrunched up in suspicion as if he'd caught a whiff of something fishy. "Explain that to me Ben, that my top three are all located here at the Ponderosa?"

Ben laid a placating hand on the doctor's shoulder and steered him towards the bunkhouse.

"That I can't do, Paul. But this ranch would be lost without you, that's for sure."

They walked off and Madeline watched them fondly for a moment, then headed to the porch. She went inside the house and untied the blue ribbon under her chin, placing her straw hat on the dresser just by the front door. Only Ben's hat was hanging up on one of the hooks on the wall, so she guessed that Adam was out working with Hoss and Joe. With the package in her arms, she walked to the dining room and through to the kitchen where there was an open door leading outside. Stepping through the doorway, she instantly loved the secluded garden laid out before her. There was a well to her right and a wooden bench stood on the other side of the garden in the line of pine trees forming a half-circle around the house. A warm wave spread through her when she saw the flowerbed of red roses where Adam had picked a bouquet for her from a few weeks ago.

"Missy Madeline!"

The surprised voice pulled her out of the memory and she spotted Hop Sing waving at her over by a washing line tied between two trees. She went over to him, her gait keen and her smile wide.

"Hello, Hop Sing, how are you?"

"Hop Sing velly good, you come visit, he even better!"

"It's nice to see you too," she said in that genuine tone that could make any person she addressed feel like they were someone truly special. "I just came by to give you something."

She undid the string around the brown package and the little cook's sudden curiosity set his feet in motion as he scuffled closer to her. She held the now open package out for him to take.

"This . . . is for me?"

"Yes, it's only a little thing. If you do not like it, I can take it back with me."

His nimble fingers grasped the white cotton with hesitance and when he cautiously held it up in front of himself, his naturally wise, almond-shaped eyes widened into rounded astonishment. In his hands was a crisp, white apron, adorned with spectacular embroidery along the front. The center motif was of two dragons facing one another; one gold, and one silver, their twisting tails entwined and around them were flowing patterns which he recognized as being from the Yue school of Chinese embroidery. The gold and silver threads were stitched finely into the fabric and the smooth lines gave the decoration a tranquil impression. Madeline gazed out at the garden when she sensed that her gift was having an emotional impact on him and she wondered if he would have preferred to open it in privacy.

"Missy Madeline . . . made this for Hop Sing?"

"Yes, as a small thank you for being so nice to me. And after all, you did lend my uncle one of your cookbooks which I still don't know when will be returned to you."

Hop Sing nodded quietly, then folded the material with infinite care and wrapped it up again. He held it in his arms and then bowed deeply, his long black ponytail falling down to hang past his face, almost touching the ground.

"This is most beautiful gift I ever receive. Words are too few for Hop Sing to describe. Thank you, Missy Madeline."

"You are very welcome, I am pleased that you like it. It was the least I could do really, I have been enjoying your recipe book very much too."

The little man straightened up. "Velly good, you keep book, honorable Doctor Martin need practice," he said generously.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you, Hop Sing."

He carefully placed the package in the empty basket on the ground where the wet clothes had been in minutes before. A mild breeze blew past the clothes hanging on the washing line, bringing the scent of soap with it as it brushed across Madeline's face. She stood quietly as the Cantonese straightened a few items hanging from the line and a small sigh escaped her when her eyes fell on three black shirts. She happened to look over at a big, white shirt which could only be Hoss', and noticed that it had a hole by the seam at the left side. Raising a hand, she touched the tear absentmindedly when Hop Sing saw what she was doing.

"Big boys! All the time they work hard and play rough, make extra work! Hop Sing cook, not seamstress!"

The following head-shake made his black ponytail dance sideways along his back as he lifted a pair of brown pants towards her. "Mr. Hoss rip holes in shirt, Little Joe ruin pants every two weeks, when he forget to wear chaps!"

Madeline realized what he meant when she saw the ripped seam running along the side of the pant-leg.

"And Mr. Adam no better!" The cook grabbed at one of the black shirts and showed her where the buttons on the cuffs were hanging onto the fabric by threads and that three buttons at the bottom of the shirt had fallen off completely.

"He roll sleeves up and stuff shirt in pants, say to me it no matter when he just work!"

Madeline stroked the damp, black cloth, her mouth curving as she imagined Adam saying just that.

"Hop Sing . . . why don't you gather the clothes that need mending, and I can take them back with me? It won't take me long at all to fix these little things."

"Oh, Missy Madeline no, you already do too much for me!"

"Come now, we are friends, are we not? Really, I insist. I would like to do this."

Hop Sing wavered a little, but in the end he knew that it would take him hours to do what Madeline could most likely do in less than half that time.

"All light. I get other clothes and get ready for you to take."

"Good."

He picked up the basket and she followed him back into the house. While he continued to the washroom through the kitchen, Madeline went into the sitting room just as Ben and her uncle came through the front door.

"Well, that was quick," she said, "I hope Mr. Harold is feeling better?"

Paul grunted at her, dropping his bag on the floor with a dull thud. "Hmpf. That old galoot seemed to think I could perform miracles. He will have to stick it out now, but I did give him something for the pain. Just to keep him quiet."

"Yes, he certainly did give you a bit of an earful."

Ben patted the doctor's tense shoulder. An idea suddenly struck him, and he rubbed his chin as he looked at Madeline, although he spoke to his old friend.

"Hmm, I think I know just the thing to help you unwind after that unpleasant episode, Paul . . ."

"Oh? Please do tell, Ben."

"A trip to Pine Valley. The view there is so serene, it'll relax you immediately, I guarantee it."

The corners of Paul's mouth drifted downwards and the sound vibrating from his throat was tinged with skepticism.

"Mm-hmmmmm . . .?"

"Ah yes, and the boys are there. Adam is doing some shooting practice."

Paul glanced at Madeline whose face lit up in that special way where her heart was set on an idea.

He turned back to Ben. "And just how do you imagine that fact will calm my spirits?"

"Oh, Uncle Paul, it would be so lovely! I have never been to this Pine Valley. We are in no rush to get back home, are we?"

It would take some kind of man to deny his adorable niece when she had that look in her eyes. Paul Martin was decidedly not that man. His shoulders sagged, and he let out an over-exaggerated breath.

"All right. Let's go then."

Ben risked a subtle wink at Madeline and she grinned back at him. She quickly went to get her straw hat from the dresser—the bounce in her step obvious to both men.

"I'll just ask Hop Sing to pack us some refreshments," he said, "it's very hot today and I'm sure the boys will appreciate it."

Ben went off to the kitchen and Paul and Madeline stepped outside onto the porch to wait. The doctor noticed how she seemed to take a sudden, extra interest in her appearance as she fidgeted first with her blue checkered skirt and then her white blouse. When she raised her head, she gazed unseeing out across the yard, wearing a faint, soft smile. It was a smile Paul had come to know very well and whatever personal issues he had with the growing romance between his niece and the dark Cartwright—that smile certainly made things easier on him.

xXXx

Half an hour later, the surrey was rambling down Pine Valley. It was easy to see how the area got its name; there were huge, dark green pines scattered across the land and Madeline was rendered speechless when Ben told her that most of those trees had been around for hundreds of years. They were riding along a bumpy trail in between a river on their left and a sloping rock-face to their right and in the distance was a view of the breathtaking mountains, the peaks of which were covered in floating whiteness.

Madeline was so caught up in the spellbinding scenery, that when a shot all of a sudden echoed down the valley, she startled and instinctively grabbed her uncle's arm.

"It's all right, dear," Ben said from beside the surrey where he was riding on his horse, "that must be Adam. There will probably be another one in a minute."

She quickly settled down again and when another shot indeed rang out a minute later, she was prepared for it.

They reached a point where the river widened as the trail rounded a curve along the rock-face and there—in the shade of some trees up ahead—stood Joe's horse, Cochise. The pinto was grazing lazily, loosely tied to a branch while Sport was off by himself, untied, grazing a little further away.

Joe and Adam were standing a little further down the valley with their backs to the trail. The younger brother heard the surrey coming from behind and he turned around and waved at them while Adam sighted down his rifle, aiming somewhere in the distance straight down the valley. He squeezed the trigger just as Paul pulled up the horses and Ben halted Buck. As soon as the shot fired, he shook his head and opened the breach of the rifle to inspect it. Joe walked closer to him and said something, touching his shoulder. When Adam spun around, the frowning concentration vanished from his face to be replaced by stunned delight when he locked eyes with Madeline. The two brothers began walking towards the newcomers while Ben dismounted and helped Madeline down.

"That's our Pa," Joe said, smacking Adam on the back as they neared. "We disappear for a few hours—he comes looking for us and brings a doctor AND a nurse along with him!"

Paul scoffed and stepped down onto the ground.

"Don't you worry young man, my business is closed for the rest of the day barring any emergencies."

Ben and Joe laughed, but Adam was a little too preoccupied to take part in their humor. Madeline gazed up at him from beneath the wide brim of her hat as he stopped in front of her. They both said "hi" at the same time which was of great amusement to Joe, but his older brother didn't even acknowledge him.

"I was going to come by this evening," Adam said. "But I'm glad to see you now . . ."

"Uncle Paul was coming out here anyway to see your foreman Mr. Harold, so I thought I'd join him."

"Oh?" Joe faced the doctor. "How'd old Harry take it, doc?" he asked, crossing his arms with a devilish gleam.

"Joseph," Ben broke in before his boisterous youngest triggered a repeat of the scorching bad temper Paul had displayed in the bunkhouse earlier, "Harry is on the mend and I think we should consider that matter quite closed."

He peeked over at Paul who seemed to be trying to take in the serene air of the entire valley in one single breath. The sudden sound of hoof-beats approaching drew everyone's attention to Hoss as he came riding towards them on Chub. He brought the horse to a stop in front of the group and gave Madeline and Paul one of his trademark gap-toothed grins.

"Hey there doc, Madeline." He nodded at them, then turned to his older brother. "Adam, I was plumb confused there for a minute when ya stopped shootin', but I reckon I know why now."

He tipped his hat at Madeline and she couldn't quite keep the blush from her cheeks. She discreetly glanced over at Adam, but realized that he wasn't even looking at Hoss—only at her.

"How'd he do, Hoss?" Joe asked.

"I'll be dadburned. He was in the bulls-eye with every single one, except that last bullet was in the ring just outside."

That sentence did seem to get through to Adam and he lifted the gun which had been hanging forgotten in his hand.

"Yea, I know." He squinted into the open breach of the rifle, "I was a bit too quick with that one, didn't compensate for the wind properly . . ."

"You want me to ride on out and set up a few more of them targets, Adam?"

"No, I think that was enough for today."

Madeline spoke up, the words spilling from her mouth before she knew it. "Please, don't stop because of us. If you would like to finish your practice session, well, that would be perfectly fine . . ."

Adam abandoned his inspection of the rifle to study her instead, his head and smile tilting slightly to one side.

"Are you sure?"

"Most definitely," she responded evenly, managing to reduce her overly eager tone before to one of a somewhat more restrained enthusiasm. When she heard Ben's rumbling voice from behind her, she knew that she would see lively sparkles in those deep brown eyes if she turned around.

"Well . . . I think we'd all quite enjoy a little demonstration, son."

Madeline was then faced with that devastating Adam Cartwright-smirk she had come to completely adore, and this time, it was topped off with a little pucker of his upper-lip.

"You got any more bullets for the Whitworth on you, Joe?" he asked over his shoulder but still looked at her.

"Yea, six in my pocket."

"All right. We'll do the last six then."

With a decision made, Adam handed Joe the rifle and then looked up at Hoss. "Go back to marker number three, by the rocks this time."

"You got it Adam!"

Hoss kicked Chub's sides and rode back in the direction he'd come from as Madeline turned around to her uncle and Ben, her open-mouthed smile conveying her excitement to them. A warm hand suddenly grasped hers and her heart fluttered when Adam said, "Come along then", and pulled her after him. Joe seemed just as eager as her and ran ahead of them to get things ready. Paul and Ben strolled after and the doctor was honestly very intrigued to see another display of Adam's marksmanship skills.

Adam let go of Madeline's hand when they reached the spot where he and Joe had been standing before, and Joe had now spread out a blanket in the grass. On it lay some paper cartridges, a cleaning rod with a scraper, a ramrod and a different rifle to the one Adam had used before. He knelt down and picked up the gun and Madeline watched in fascination as he handled the rifle with that same smooth confidence as she'd witnessed at the county fair. He first used the rod with the scraper to clean out the barrel meticulously, then placed the stock of the rifle on the ground. He reached for one of the paper cartridges, tore the paper open with his teeth and carefully poured the measured amount of powder down through the gun's bore.

"Say Adam," Paul said from beside Madeline, lifting his hand to shade his squinting eyes, "just how far away is he setting up this target of yours?"

Madeline followed his line of sight and saw the dot that was now Hoss disappearing further and further down the valley. Adam tapped the barrel of the gun to settle the powder. "Marker three is 1400 yards away from this point."

Two sets of widened eyes shot to him while Joe bobbed his head with a "yea, you heard right" grin. Adam just continued loading the gun and inserted a small felt wad down through the bore.

"Good Lord . . ." Paul mumbled as he gazed out into the distance again.

"Is that . . . a special type of firearm, perhaps?" Madeline asked hesitantly.

Adam looked up at her with a gentle smile.

"Yes, it is. It's a Whitworth rifle, hard to get hold of, and it was used mainly by Confederate sharpshooters during the war. A good friend of mine gave it to me on the day of General Lee's surrender. He is from Mississippi and fought for the South, but we've known each other since West Point. He also served as a captain and he's a great marksman. Told me he'd been saving this to give to me once the war was over."

Adam stretched out his hand and Joe passed him one of the paper-covered bullets. He unwrapped it and held it up.

"The hexagonal rifling requires mechanically fitted bullets . . . see the shape?" Madeline and Paul studied the long, slender bullet in his palm with interest. "It means that the bullet fits perfectly into the barrel which reduces friction and enables it to reach higher velocities. Makes it stable at longer ranges than other rifles." He turned the gun to show them the telescopic sight attached to the left side of the rifle. "In addition to the standard iron sights it also has a side-mounted Davidson scope. In the hands of a capable sharpshooter, it _will_ hit any target a thousand yards out and beyond that."

He grabbed the short starter laying on the blanket and used it to drive the bullet a little way down through the bore.

Paul cleared his throat. "Adam, perhaps it's a silly question, but how come you didn't serve with the Sharpshooters?"

"Well, I did spend a few months training the 1st regiment of the Sharpshooters. I had a position there for a while, but I decided to return to the infantry. And then quite a few of my men were good enough to be sharpshooters too anyway."

Madeline soaked up everything he said, taking advantage of the opportunity to learn more about this side of him which he didn't talk much about, at least not with her.

When Adam had used the ramrod to seat the bullet firmly against the wad and powder charge, he raised his head to see if Hoss was in position. Madeline stepped over to her uncle and Ben and Adam got ready. He lay flat on the ground in a prone position and placed a percussion cap on the nipple of the rifle. As he took aim, Madeline was captivated by the sight of him. The black hat shaded his face from the sun, and there was an air of complete focus about him. His back rose and fell slowly, the black shirt fitting so snugly around him that she could see the outline of his strong shoulders and imagine the flexing muscles in his upper arms. Her eyes trailed down his spine, sliding down the curve of his lower back to that narrow waist, skipping over the black belt of his pants and—BANG!

She jumped when the shot rang out, a furious pounding shaking the top-half of her body from inside. It was quite mortifying when Adam turned to look up at her as if he knew something was wrong and she ducked her head, her face burning like she was on fire. She couldn't meet his gaze, she was convinced that he would know exactly what she had been thinking and where she'd been looking. Joe's enthusiastic voice rescued her.

"What do you think Adam?"

"That one was fine . . ."

"How can you tell, son?"

"I just know, I guess."

By the time she'd regained her composure, Adam was almost finished reloading the rife. He glanced over at her again and she gave him the little smile that she knew he was looking for. He smiled back and lay back down on his front. This time, her sight was fixed somewhere down the valley.

xXXx

"My Heavens . . . that is remarkable . . ."

"Yes . . . I've seen him do it a couple of times now and I still can't quite believe it."

Paul and Ben were sitting on the blanket, scrutinizing the targets laid out on the ground in front of them. The rings around the centers were completely intact and the bulls-eyes were filled with holes.

"Hey Pa, you mind if—"

"Joseph, swallow your food first, then address me."

Joe gulped down the last bite of one of the sandwiches Hop Sing had made.

"Sorry, sir. Do you mind if I borrow the surrey tomorrow? I said I'd take Maisy out for a ride after church."

"No, that's fine, son." Ben looked over at his youngest boy crouched down in the shade of a tree, "You can always bring her back to the house for lunch if you like."

Hoss had overheard the last bit of the conversation as he walked over to them munching on an apple, and he came to a stand, towering over Joe.

"Ain't ya worried ya might be over-courtin' that lil gal?" He laughed, and in the process, sprayed his brother with bits of the juicy fruit, "I reckon you're gonna get as bad as old Adam!"

The big man's grin disintegrated when Paul's eyes darted onto him and Joe smirked in satisfaction as he wiped the fruit off his shirt.

"Speaking of, where did your older brother disappear off to?" Ben asked, rather unwisely.

Just then, they all heard Madeline's distant giggle from somewhere and turned in the direction of the sound. A little way up the river, Adam and Madeline were holding hands and strolling along the grassy bank, heading away from the others.

"Uhm . . ." The muscles in Hoss' throat worked hard, and he played with some grass with his boot. "I reckon he wanted to show Miss Madeline the river, Pa."

"Aha! There is a perfect view of the river from right here," Paul said as he scrutinized the backs of the retreating couple.

Hoss and Joe clumsily flung themselves into what was supposed to be a relaxed conversation about nearby fishing areas—hoping to take the attention off their brother. Ben, on the other hand, was quite calm because he'd already seen the secret smile in Paul's visage which had given the doctor away.

xXXx

"Adam, I still find your skills absolutely extraordinary no matter how much you understate them. How did you ever become so good?" Madeline studied him intently as they walked through the grass, as if his expression would reveal the key to his proficiency at any moment.

"Like I told you, it takes practice. Practice and determination. Those are two vital qualities for any soldier to possess and I guess it just differs from man to man how far he can or wants to push himself."

"Well, although I'm not very knowledgeable on the subject, I am so pleased that we came out here today and got to see you practice," she said with an earnest smile. "It's quite special."

"Yes, that reminds me . . ." He paused, glancing over at her. "I was told that the reason for your little visit today wasn't to see me."

His voice was perfectly casual but there was an edge of challenge clinging to the last word.

"Yes, that is true," she replied solemnly. "Actually, Adam . . . I must tell you. I came to see Hop Sing."

"Hmm."

He went quiet and thoughtful while Madeline fought down the laugh that was tickling her throat, determined to wait and see what else he would say.

"You know . . . I've never really considered myself the jealous type."

She faced him then, her lashes doing a slow sweep down across her huge, green pools.

"Oh, but Adam, if you _were,_ I would be more than happy to make you an apron too."

He let out one of those rich chuckles of his, the ones she considered far too infrequent, but when they did appear, they were like little gifts in her day. He tugged at her hand, pulling her closer to him and she went willingly until a snorting noise from ahead made her look up.

"Hello you! I was beginning to think that you were ignoring me."

She released Adam's hand and walked up to Sport who instantly dropped his muzzle into her outstretched palm.

"I saved you two apples, but they are in the surrey, so you'll have to wait a little."

She stroked the horse's neck and Sport let out a rush of air through his nostrils, almost like he was communicating his displeasure over having to wait for his treats. But as she continued caressing his neck, the wise, brown eyes became half closed as the chestnut enjoyed the attention.

"You spoil him."

Madeline looked back at a cross-armed Adam and she kept up the soothing stroking.

"Funny you say that. _He_ thinks I spoil _you_."

Adam didn't respond to that. Instead, he let his eyes glide from her face down her body, all the way down to her ankles hidden underneath the layers of skirt where he paused before starting back up again. Goosebumps, which had no right to appear anywhere on a day as hot as this, were left behind in a trail up her front where his gaze seemed to have burned through her clothes to her skin. He looked at her face again.

"Come here."

She stood completely still for a few seconds just staring back at him. A part of her wanted to turn around and run all the way back through the valley from where she'd come. Away from him and the look he regarded her with now. But running away from Adam Cartwright, if that had ever really been an option for her, was no longer a possibility. There was such a unique connection between them, vastly overpowering any defense she could muster up, and in spite of her private reservations and confused emotions, it felt all kinds of wrong to move anywhere but closer to him. Her hand dropped from the horse's muzzle and she complied with Adam's demand. She took five steps back towards him but stopped just outside of his reach. Well, she misjudged that because when he stretched out his arms, he easily grasped hers and gently pulled her all the way back to him. She relaxed when she noticed a faint smile teasing at his lips.

"Sport . . . and Hop Sing"—he settled his hands on her hips—"have both received plenty of your attention today. Don't you think it's my turn?"

"Oh my, you _are_ jealous," she said and there was a note of triumph in her smooth voice. She was amazed when something seemed to ignite in his eyes, sending sparks of gold flying around the countless shades of brown.

"You want to know how I got that good with a rifle?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes . . ."

"It's all about control. A soldier is useless without it. The arts of fencing and shooting can't be mastered without it. Control is everything, it's what keeps you alive on the battlefield, keeps you sane in the chaos. I used to drill my men relentlessly with the importance of that little word." He broke off and her attention fell on his mouth where she glimpsed the tip of his tongue do a quick sweep along his lower lip.

"But with you . . . when I am in your presence . . . that word is entirely foreign to me. You make me feel completely off balance, Madeline."

His honest words went straight to her heart and her lips curved as she placed her hands on his arms.

"I didn't think anything could throw you off balance, Adam."

"Me neither."

He leaned down to capture her mouth with his, and she wondered how it was possible that every kiss they shared seemed just as overwhelming as the first. They were both caught up in enjoying each other's closeness when a sudden rush of hot air hit the sides of their faces. The interruption made them pull apart and Madeline laughed when Adam groaned up towards the sky.

"Come on, Sport! Can't you see that we're busy?"

Madeline reached out to rub the big chestnut's cheek and Sport swung his tail, looking quite unapologetic. She leaned against Adam, feeling a little pleased that he hadn't relinquished his hold on her and his hands moved to her back.

"We should probably get back to the others," she said. "I think that is what he is trying to say."

"Yea, I guess we should."

She felt his chest rise and fall and her eyes involuntarily landed on the dark curls revealed by the open top of his shirt. Her thoughts were starting to wander again when his voice drifted down to her ear.

"I'll be busy tomorrow, Hoss and I are going out on a little hunting trip. Are you working on Monday?"

"Yes, but I should be finished at four o'clock. You could always come by later, in the evening?"

"Mmm, or I could come by and have a piece of your coffee cake and then walk with you home?"

Madeline drew back to look up at him with a playful smile.

"Sally constantly says that you have become her number one customer since I started working there."

"I have no problem with that."

With great effort, he peeled his hands away from her when she suddenly took hold of his right wrist. Adam's eyebrows lifted and rounded in almost perfect half-circles as he watched what she was doing.

"Boy . . . what has Hop Sing been saying about me?"

She finished unrolling his sleeve, revealing that the button at the cuff was indeed missing and there was a rip running up the fabric.

"Apparently, nothing that isn't true." She rolled the sleeve back up, tracing up his powerful forearm. "I am taking a few of yours and your brothers' clothes back home with me later, to mend them. This one should definitely be among them."

As she faced him with lively eyes, she saw a strange, soft expression settle on his face.

"They're only work clothes, Madeline. It'll happen again."

"Then they will be mended again."

"It hardly seems worth the effort." He put his hand on her back and guided her back along the riverbank from where they'd come. "They've been torn and ripped so many times, they're probably not even worth repairing. Sometimes . . . things just get worn out. And they're never the same anymore."

"I think it's worth the effort, Adam . . ."

She looked over at him and it was at times like these that she wished she could tell what he was thinking. But he was lost in his own little world, his mind working through something and his blank face revealed nothing. Eventually, he did smile a little at her.

"All right. I guess you're the knowledgeable one on that subject."

She walked closely next to him as they continued through the high grass. He was still distracted, she sensed it and after spending more time with him over the last couple of weeks, she'd learned that it took him a little while to shake that mood off again. She waited patiently as they strolled along in silence but she couldn't keep the worry from growing inside her.

While she knew how to mend his shirts, she wished that she had some idea of how to mend his heart.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Notes_

 _Hiya guys! Thank you all for your reviews and kind words of reassurance on the previous chapter, I am just happy that you have all enjoyed the story so far. So, this chapter is one I have worked on for quite some time and things are about to get tense._ _I did have a moment of sudden doubt with this one, but thanks to a good friend who gave it an enthusiastic thumbs up, it is now here for you all to read. I hope you like it._

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

On Monday the following week, Adam was having a bad day. He had been out looking for strays in some rough country and it seemed that all the most cantankerous steers of the Ponderosa had conspired against him, making the job of rounding them up as hard as possible. It had taken him four hours to do what should have taken two and the scorching heat had done nothing to soothe his taut nerves. When Hoss had gently pointed out to him that he'd miscounted a group of strays which had been brought in by some of the men, he'd jumped down his brother's throat for no reason. The cowhands and Joe had been keeping their distance ever since that episode and even Hoss, whose patience was unrivaled, had become quiet.

Adam knew that he was acting bad-tempered, but he was tired, hot and preoccupied. Even though his hunting trip with Hoss had been a great success the previous day, he'd had another one of his bad nights and slept no more than an hour. It had really gotten to him today and for some reason it was harder than usual for him to deal with everything. Adam didn't do helpless very well, and that was exactly what he felt when he was caught in one of his nightmares and when he was forced to keep himself awake all night to avoid returning to those dark dreams. His pondering about the army and his future was also adding to the painful throbbing building behind his temples.

Around one o'clock, he received word that his father wanted to see him. He didn't know how, but he was pretty sure that either Hoss or Joe had managed to slip away and stop by their pa back at the house. Obviously, someone had told him about his oldest son's deteriorating mood. So, Adam rode on home, prepared to face the reprimand he knew he deserved. But to his surprise, there wasn't a hint of disapproval to detect on his pa's face and instead, he was told to take the rest of the day off. Naturally, that order made him feel guilty, but his pa saw the look straight away and pointed out that he'd already done his fair share with the accounts he'd sorted out the evening before. When his father cautiously suggested that he could go to Virginia City earlier than planned, Adam couldn't help but smile a little. He thanked his pa and went to get cleaned up, deciding to stop by the general store before he returned home later. He would buy some lemon drops which happened to be Hoss' favorite.

* * *

"Here you are Mrs. Hansen, one loaf of cornbread and half a dozen applesauce cookies."

Madeline set down the brown paper bag on the counter as the elderly lady rummaged through her purse to find the money for the items.

"Thank you, dear. Your version of those cookies is still my absolute favorite." Mrs. Hansen held out a few coins, her eyes almost disappearing in all her wrinkles. "And thank you again for lending me your coffee cake recipe, Madeline. I will return it to you sometime this week."

"Oh, don't worry about that Mrs. Hansen, you can keep it." Madeline took the money, smiling warmly. "I know that recipe by heart anyway."

The old lady thanked her again and took the bag, then exited the restaurant through the door behind her. After placing the money in the cash-box, Madeline did a quick survey of the room to see if all the customers were taken care of.

Sally's Restaurant was a bit of a mix between a bakery and a restaurant, specializing mostly in making cakes, pies and breads. These foods could either be bought and taken home or enjoyed at one of the tables in the establishment. They also served a variety of breakfast dishes such as ham and eggs, omelets and pancakes—and all the items on the menu were sold at very affordable prices.

The restaurant's dining area consisted of a long rectangular-shaped room and at one end, just across from the front door, was a large counter forming a half circle. On the counter-top was a display of various cakes and pastries, many of which were Madeline's own recipes. Tables and chairs filled out the space all the way to the far end of the room and the décor was tasteful with a feminine touch, which fitted well since it was typically ladies who came in to have tea in the afternoons. Quite a few miners and cowboys frequented the establishment too, mostly to have breakfast, and the restaurant's informal and homey ambiance appealed to many men. Madeline usually spent most of her time working in the kitchen, but they had been shorthanded this particular day, so since noon she had been standing behind the counter to help the waiters in any way she could, taking orders and wrapping pastries and breads to be sold.

Seeing that all the guests at the tables had been served for now, she put the cash-box back under the tabletop just as Sally came through the doorway behind the counter which led to the kitchen.

"Madeline, I think you should start making two pound cakes on the days you are here from now on. We've run out again already."

"Certainly Sally, would you like me to make a quick one now?"

Sally shook her head, her double chins bouncing with the movement.

"No, that's all right. We still have the pies and the other cakes, that will have to do for today."

The older woman limped over to the other side of the counter opposite Madeline, supporting herself with the wooden cane in her hand. She leaned the walking stick against the tabletop and grabbed a pen and paper from the space beneath the counter-surface to start a new list of items that needed restocking in the kitchen.

"Say, what's happening with your Mr. Dark and Handsome?" she asked, scribbling away. "He hasn't been in here to see you since last Thursday."

Madeline faced the woman she had come to consider a good friend. Sally Piper was in her mid-forties, but everything about her—from her forever-sparkling eyes and permanently red cheeks to her lively attitude—radiated a youthfulness akin to that of a child's. She was a big lady with a big heart and Madeline was extremely grateful for the warm welcome the older woman had given her since she'd started working in the restaurant.

The words "Mr. Dark and Handsome" made her smile. It was a name Sally had started using for him, even in front of Adam himself, and Madeline knew that he was quite entertained by it. She rather liked it too. After all, it was true.

"Actually, I saw him on the weekend," Madeline said leaning back against the counter-top. "He is coming over for supper later."

"Really? Hmm, it's a wonder he stays so lean, isn't it? I mean, with all the good food you cook for him at your house and all the cake he demolishes in here."

"Well, with the hard work he has to do every day, I suppose it balances itself out."

A delicious warmth spread through her at the thought of just how fit and lean he was, and then for some reason, Madeline found herself thinking back on that day in July when she'd first laid eyes on him. She would never forget how pale and ill he'd looked—and thin. Of course, she hadn't known him then, but remembering it now, she had no doubt that his weight at that time had been considerably lower than what was normal for him. The way he was now seemed much healthier and it always gave her a special kind of satisfaction to feed him a good meal in the evenings when he stopped by after a hard day's work. She vaguely registered the front door of the restaurant open behind her, but it was the frustrated sound Sally made which forced her all the way back to the present.

"Here comes Clayton again." Sally put her pen down and limped across the little space to the opposite side of the half-circle counter. "I'll serve him, Madeline."

Madeline gave the older woman a grateful look and stepped over to the pen and paper without looking behind her. As she scanned the list to see if there was something else she could think of that needed to be added, she was very aware of the two eyes boring into her back. She heard him grunt out his order to Sally who responded in a polite but cool tone and Madeline began to wish that she'd just gone into the kitchen because feeling his icy gaze on her—whether she was facing him or not—was most uncomfortable.

"Howdy, Madeline."

At the sound of his hoarse voice, she put on one of the last kind smiles she had left for him and turned around.

"Hello, Mr. Clayton."

"You're lookin' mighty fine today, Ma'am." He bumped up his hat to reveal his greasy, dark curls as he eyed her hungrily. "Yes, real fine . . ."

"I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Clayton," she said calmly, then turned away.

Sally moved slightly to the side, blocking most of Madeline from the man's view.

"Your coffee will be brought to you in a minute. There's a table at the back."

He scrunched his bearded face up into a grimace, regarding the woman as if he were a child whose favorite toy had just been taken away and she was to blame for it. Making another grunting noise, he pushed away from the counter and walked down the room to a free table.

Madeline sighed and looked at the list again, finding it impossible to concentrate.

"We are going to have to do something about this," Sally mumbled as she came over. "It can't continue."

"Mr. Clayton is a customer and this is your business, Sally."

"Madeline, he only ever orders a cup of coffee when he comes in. That man isn't the least bit interested in anything we serve here, you know that."

The women were interrupted when the front door opened, and two ladies came in. Madeline quickly went to welcome them, doing the best she could to keep her mind on her work. Twenty minutes went by, during which she felt his gaze like a constant weight on her whenever she was in his sights. She walked back and forth between the kitchen and the front of the restaurant, carrying out new cakes and rearranging the display of pies lined up on the counter-top. Clayton had snatched a seat at a table in the middle of the room, but he'd turned the chair around to point in her direction. He was leaning back so the two front chair-legs lifted off the ground as he observed her like a predator would its prey. The waiters who kept passing him to serve the tables at the back of the room were also finding his presence awkward and they discussed it in the kitchen, several of them noticing the distinctive stench of alcohol clinging to the man's clothes. No one said anything to him though—Clayton was a big man and a frequent participant in brawls around the town's saloons. Besides, he wasn't really doing anything that could warrant throwing him out of the restaurant.

Madeline's hope that he would leave soon was rapidly diminishing, and the situation was starting to affect her usually attentive way of dealing with the customers because she was distracted. He normally didn't stay this long and had only ever stopped by for coffee in the mornings, but she now realized that he could very well sit there for the next half an hour. A sudden queasy spell overcame her, and she put a steadying palm on the counter, turning away from the room.

"That's it," Sally said, coming out of the kitchen. "He's been finished with his coffee for ten minutes. He is literally just sitting there ogling at you. I'm going to ask him to leave."

"No Sally, he is just trying to provoke a reaction, we shouldn't give in to him. He will grow tired of it soon, I'm sure."

Sally's forehead wrinkled as she studied Madeline closer. "You look pale . . . are you all right?"

"Yes, I am fine, don't worry about me." Madeline looked out across the room and all the customers sitting at their tables, chatting happily. "I just don't want to cause an unpleasant scene and disrupt people's afternoon because of that man."

Just as Sally was about to protest, some of her most loyal patrons called out to her from a table nearby. The older woman wavered, looking to Madeline.

"It's all right, I am fine, really," Madeline said with a genuine smile. "Go to them."

Clearly not pleased with the situation, Sally spoke seriously, "I will be right back and then we'll see what we can do about this."

She took her cane and went around the counter, over to the table of customers. Madeline pulled her shoulders back and with a determined upward tilt of her chin, she headed out into the kitchen to get rid of some empty cake platters. When she came back out with a cloth in hand, Sally was still standing by the table talking to the group and Madeline set about wiping the tabletop free of cake crumbs. In an attempt to divert herself from the intense scrutiny she was still under, she considered her plans for the evening. Just thinking about Adam helped her relax.

She was placing Sally's list of kitchen items under the counter-top when she sensed a customer approaching and raised her head. The very unexpected sight of Clayton's leering face made her body freeze and a prickly sensation trailed down her spine as if a spider had crawled down her back.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Clayton?" she asked politely, yet she was unable to conceal her discomfort completely. It seemed like he noticed it and he flashed his yellow teeth in a sardonic grin, giving her the impression that he enjoyed it.

"I wanna have a talk with you, Ma'am."

"I am afraid that I'm rather busy at the moment."

She continued cleaning the counter, refusing to let him see just how uncomfortable he was making her. A rough chuckle rolled off his whiskey-laced breath and he leaned a big arm on part of the tabletop, preventing her from moving the cloth further.

"Madeline, that don't seem like a polite answer for a fine-lookin' woman to give a hard-workin' man like me. I reckon you can do better."

"Mr. Clayton," she said, finding the strength to turn a cool stare on him. "I don't believe that we are well enough acquainted to be on first name terms."

With one swift movement, his hand—rough and brutal—suddenly covered her wrist and his looming form stretched across the tabletop.

"And whose fault is that? I'd like to get a whole lot better acquainted with you." His glassy eyes ran down her white blouse and up again. "Yes Ma'am, a whole lot . . ."

It wasn't a bruising grip, but he applied enough pressure that she couldn't pull back her hand and despite the panic that was welling up inside her, she kept her voice low and tried to prevent it from shaking.

"Remove your hand, Mr. Clayton."

She saw something shift in his expression and got the feeling that he was about to draw back, but she would never know for sure. Because at that moment, a familiar black-clad arm appeared out of nowhere, grabbing at Clayton's shirtfront and Madeline was utterly shocked to see the big man suddenly take to the air as he was flung backwards and somehow ended up smacked against the wall beside the open door. The thunderous crash elicited gasps, exclamations and the screeching of chairs throughout the restaurant and Madeline was mortified by the sight of Adam pressing the stunned and breathless Clayton against the wall, the man's feet barely touching the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The dark Cartwright's voice came out as a vicious hiss and Madeline brought a hand up to cover her open mouth, startled by this unfamiliar and deadly tone. Clayton's eyes were so wide they were watering, and he wheezed desperately, trying to take in some of the air that had been slammed out of his back. Madeline's hand fell down to her chest and she finally managed a distressed gasp of her own.

"Adam!"

She could tell that he immediately responded to her voice; he went from an aggressive, ready-to-fight stance, to one of tense intimidation, but it still took him a few moments before he actually lowered Clayton fully to the ground.

"Next time I see you in here, Fred . . . I'll put you clean _through_ this wall."

Adam released the other man's shirtfront with a rough push and Clayton shot him a look of pure, scathing hatred before he turned and stumbled out of the door, his back heaving. The restaurant, which was filled with probably close to fifty people, had been enveloped in complete silence. Madeline's cheeks inflamed when she saw the large dent and matching downward crack which now decorated the cream-colored wall and for the life of her, she couldn't bring herself to look at the customers or Sally. Adam bent down to retrieve his hat from the floor and he dusted it off, turning around to face the room. He calmly walked towards the counter, his boots thumping across the wooden floor like it was the only sound in the world and along the way, he picked up a couple of chairs that had been knocked over by Clayton's flailing legs. Ignoring everyone else, he stopped in front of Madeline, his face neutral and showing not a hint of emotion.

"May I talk with you?"

She was too speechless to provide him with an answer, so instead, she quickly came around the counter to take a firm hold of his arm and then headed for the kitchen, leaving the aghast crowd behind. The cooks and waiters were all pretending to be busy at work as the couple passed them and Madeline pulled Adam into a backroom which functioned as a pantry. Letting go of his arm, she shut the door behind them and drew in a huge breath in a useless attempt to calm the uproar of mixed emotions going on inside her. She stared him down with her hands clasped to her hips, her heart hammering and her wrist burning.

"Explain to me . . . what just happened."

His eyebrows inched upwards at her clipped tone and he crossed his arms defensively.

"Well, you were there, Madeline. You saw what happened."

"Adam, I cannot believe that you . . . that you . . . did that!"

"What do you mean? He was completely out of line"—Adam flung his arm up, as if waving his hat in the direction of the man's current position, wherever that was—"The guy clearly needed setting straight!"

"And I was doing just that, setting him straight!"

"I'm sure you were trying to, but I know Fred Clayton and he's real bad trouble." Adam's tone softened a bit. "Trust me. Once he gets an idea into his head, there's no stopping the guy."

Madeline looked down at her hands, and his eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to her.

"Madeline . . ." He drew out her name. "Has he been bothering you before?"

Her silence was apparently enough of an answer and she flinched slightly when his voice flew up several notes. "Why in God's name didn't you tell me?!"

"This is a restaurant and he is a paying customer. I just didn't want to cause any unnecessary trouble."

"Unnecessary troub—" Adam stopped, his nostrils flaring. "He was making you uncomfortable! He GRABBED your arm!"

"He . . . hasn't done that before . . ." she said quietly.

"We had a deal, remember? You were supposed to tell me if anyone treated you wrongly, and now you're saying that this drunkard—" He cut himself off again and faced away from her, running a hand through his hair. When he turned around again, his features were calmer but resolute.

"I want to know what he said to you."

The pantry went dead quiet for a few lengthy seconds. "I will not tell you that, Adam. Not with the mood you are in right now."

"Madeline!"

"Adam!" she exclaimed, the nauseating humiliation and scare she'd just experienced at the front of her mind. "You can't just come barging into my workplace, in front of the people I work with and the customers that I face almost every day and . . . and behave like . . . like some wild animal!"

"Oh? And just what would you have expected me to do, huh?"

"I would have expected you to show at least some measure of restraint!"

She was close enough to feel his hot breath on her face when he suddenly released a mirthless chuckle, his eyes burning like amber fire.

"Well, let me tell you something, honey – that WAS me being restrained!"

"Adam, you put a dent in the wall!"

"Well, technically," he hesitated, and Madeline stared at him, daring him to finish that sentence. His stubbornness won out. "He . . . put the dent in the wall . . ."

She made a distressed sigh and sincerely hoped that he was cringing inwardly at his own childishness.

"I cannot talk with you when you are like this!"

"Okay, look Madeline, I—"

"No, I really can't do this right now. Please . . . just go."

He opened his mouth to say something else but caught himself just in time. Then his gaze fell to the hat in his hands and her resolve wavered, but she clamped her mouth shut, knowing that either sobs or more angry words would come out at that moment. When she said nothing else, he gave a curt nod then spun around, opened the door and strode out of the room without looking back.

Madeline blinked her eyes rapidly and gasped in air past her trembling lips, but the tears started falling anyway. She turned her back to the door, resting her hands on a sack of flour to support herself. How had everything gone so wrong in such a short amount of time?

The front of her blouse was getting wetter as tears escaped her cheeks and she unconsciously kept rubbing the area where Clayton had grasped her wrist. Not because his grip had been too painful, but because some invisible line that was very sensitive to her had been crossed. His behavior had triggered a bout of terrible memories to resurface within her. She couldn't let them overcome her now though, not out here, in public and she was only able to keep them at bay by focusing on her unhappiness over the argument with Adam.

They had never spoken such words to each other—he'd never raised his voice to her before. And the way he had lifted Clayton off the ground and smashed him with such force against the wall . . . Clayton was a large man, but he'd seemed light as a child as he hung dangling from Adam's powerful grip. Seeing the gentle man she'd gotten to know turn so wild—so devoid of that cool control . . . it unnerved Madeline in a way she'd never thought his actions ever could. It wasn't that she'd been afraid of him. No part of her doubted that he had acted out of his instincts to protect her. Her fear was _for_ him rather than for herself because there had been a few moments there, where she had no idea what he might do and what might be done to him in return.

On top of it all, was the despairing feeling that the life she had been fighting to establish for herself, was crumbling around her. She had tried so hard over the last few weeks to make a good impression on not only her colleagues and Sally, but also on the restaurant's patrons. After spending months in Virginia City making just a few acquaintances and even fewer friends, it had felt like she was finally finding her place in the town and her new job was gaining her that acceptance among the citizens she had longed for. Her cakes and breads, which were traditional southern recipes, were always some of the first to be sold out and although she still received the odd hostile comment, the skeptics generally seemed to be warming up to her, especially the women. Now though, after the embarrassing scene that had just unfolded because of her, she was concerned about how that might affect people's opinions, and in her tribulation, she even went as far as to worry about whether or not she still had a job.

She pressed the back of her hand against her burning brow and that drumming headache that always came with crying was making it difficult for her to calm herself.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Madeline quickly straightened up and wiped her eyes, but when she felt Sally place a comforting hand on her shoulder it spurred a new trickling of tears.

"Oh, Sally, I am so very sorry about all this . . . I just don't know what to say."

"Don't worry about it." Sally gently turned the younger woman around to face her. "We should have done something about that man before it came to this. Mrs. Hicksberg said she saw him grab your arm . . . is that what happened?"

"Yes. I truly hadn't imagined he would do that . . . and then Adam—"

"I daresay Mr. Clayton won't be stopping by any time soon after your Mr. Dark and Handsome gave him that clear warning."

Sally's plump cheeks rounded as she tried to cheer her friend up, but her effort was unsuccessful.

"I'm sorry about the wall Sally, I don't know how—"

"Madeline, stop worrying. Adam spoke to me before he left, told me to send him the bill for the damage and he'd take care of it."

Biting her lip, Madeline fell quiet, suddenly feeling tired more than anything else.

"Perhaps you should finish early, you only have an hour of your shift left. You've stayed here late enough times."

"I'd like to finish my shift, Sally, I think it would be best." Madeline wiped the wetness from her face with her fingers and smoothed down her blouse and skirt. "I have to face everyone out there sooner or later."

"All right, if you're sure. I'll give you a moment to yourself then. Just let me know if you need anything."

"Thank you."

Sally headed out of the room, but she halted in the doorway and turned back to say the words that would be burning in her throat if she didn't.

"Madeline? Don't be too hard on him . . ."

The young woman didn't reply and Sally closed the door. She limped out into the quiet kitchen, not knowing who she felt sorrier for—Madeline or Adam.

* * *

It was six o'clock that afternoon when Paul walked into the kitchen with an empty coffee pot. He peeked over at Madeline where she was peeling potatoes by the workbench, but he knew that she hadn't noticed him. Ever since she'd come home an hour earlier, his mind had been far too occupied to concentrate on his work, and he had spent the last half an hour sitting in his office, swallowing down one cup of coffee after the other, staring at his papers. His niece had been upset from the moment she came in the door, and it hadn't taken much prodding from him before she shared what had happened at the restaurant. In spite of his dry humor and occasional sarcasm, Paul Martin thought himself a good-natured person, but hearing Madeline relay the afternoon's events brought a rare anger out in him. He very much considered her as his responsibility now and knowing about the treatment she had received from the brute of a man Fred Clayton was, made him want to go against his doctoring instincts and turn to inflicting pain instead of easing it.

Madeline had been so troubled, she'd asked for some time alone and disappeared off to the kitchen—leaving him on his own in his office with a prickling need to talk things out with her. She'd had a good half an hour to herself now, and as Paul stepped closer to put the coffee pot down on the workbench, he just hoped it was enough.

"Is there anything I can help you with, dear?"

"No, thank you, Uncle Paul," she said and continued scraping the skin off the potato in her hand, "I have just about prepared everything, then it will all go into one big pot. Supper will be a little late this evening, I'm afraid."

"That doesn't matter much to me."

He gathered a few carrot peels and added them to the bucket where the potato skins were dropping into.

"I think we should discuss what happened today, little Belle . . ."

Madeline set the skinless potato down next to the others and reached for a new one. Paul considered her, feeling a little optimistic that she hadn't dismissed the conversation yet.

"I realize that what happened today shocked you, Madeline. You've been brought up in an upper-class society where people value civilized behavior above everything else. At least in public." He continued in a bitter voice. "They seem less concerned about what happens behind closed doors . . ."

Her hands went completely still, and he threw an inward curse at himself for saying that, but quickly went on, not wanting to cause her more upset.

"But out here there are many rough characters and not all of them can be reasoned with. Now, I'm not saying that Adam couldn't have handled the situation better—he certainly should have. But I can understand why he acted as he did, and I'll even go as far as to say that I'm glad he arrived when he did. I am quite familiar with Fred Clayton, and sadly he's been responsible for much of my business for a few years."

"Uncle Paul, I understand those things." She laid down the spud and knife, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "It's just that this job is so very important to me. It matters to me what people think. As you say, I have been brought up to care about what people's opinions of me are."

"I know what that job means to you, and so does Adam."

She closed her eyes, puffy and slightly red as they were.

"I have known him a very long time, Madeline. He has more pride and stubbornness than what is probably good for him and, yes, he can be hot-tempered like a wild bronco. But he is passionate about protecting those he cares about and he would never deliberately do anything to hurt your feelings."

"I know that . . ."

Dipping his head, Paul tried to get a clear view of her face. "Is that really what is bothering you the most . . .? The embarrassment?"

She stayed silent but a tiny movement captured his attention and he noted how her left hand was carefully tracing her right wrist. His narrowed eyes cleared with comprehension.

"It frightened you, didn't it?"

"When he—" Her words broke off as the earlier incident flashed through her mind again and Paul waited, fervently hoping that she wouldn't shut him out now.

"When he grabbed my arm . . . I-I just froze, Uncle Paul. I don't know why, but it reminded me so much of _him . . ._ "

"I understand, dear."

He quickly put and arm around her back, trying to prevent the memories from tormenting her with his nearness and love.

"Madeline . . . you _were_ honest with me about your wrist being unharmed? Can I see it properly?"

"Oh, yes, I promise you, uncle." She held out her wrist, showing him that she was fine. Then she suddenly shook her head and pulled away from him, like she felt undeserving of his comfort. "It's just silly. He didn't even really hurt me."

"There is nothing silly about your reaction. You may not have a bruise this time, but I'll bet the memories are just as fresh in your mind."

Paul's thoughts went back to five months ago when he'd travelled to Utah to meet his niece for the first time in eighteen years. It was a day he had always wished would come, yet one he would forever remember as utterly heartbreaking. He would never forget how life had seemed to stop when he saw the bruises that had littered her body—the ones she was unable to hide from him.

He realized she had gone quiet now and that her eyes had that vacant sheen which appeared whenever she thought about her past.

"Perhaps if you were to tell Adam about it," he said carefully.

"Uncle, after seeing him react like he did today over a man grasping my arm, I daren't think about what he'd do if he knew." She released a sigh and Paul almost couldn't stand seeing the worry lines etched deep on her beautiful face. They simply didn't belong there.

"But I do hate keeping it from him," she said. "It feels like I am deceiving him and still . . . I just can't tell him now . . . not yet, I need a little more time . . ."

"All right, but you will have to, eventually. He should know. And I think it will help you too."

He left it at that, having no intention of pushing her on the matter after the day she'd had.

"Now, stop looking so down and gloomy. As I said, Adam is a stubborn man and not very easily discouraged. I wouldn't be surprised if he's out on the front porch tomorrow morning wanting to see you and eager to make up again."

She didn't look at him, but he was very relieved if quite surprised to see a sudden, quirking lip-twitch.

"And what is suddenly so amusing, young lady?"

"Oh, nothing . . . it's just that as hard as you are on him sometimes, you certainly sprang to his defense during this little talk."

Paul straightened his grey vest, adopting an air of indifference.

"Well, I have some work to do. I'll be in my office, call me if you need any help."

Madeline's smile grew and as she reached for the next potato, he glanced back at her from the doorway, giving another silent prayer of thanks for having her in his life.

He went back to his office, thinking he might actually be able to get some work done now. The next fifteen minutes spent at his desk were indeed very productive, right up until a knock on the door interrupted him. Being a doctor, it was not uncommon for him to receive late evening visits since medical emergencies often occurred at this time when cowboys and miners got liquored up at the saloons. Although he couldn't logically rule out that possibility, this evening was different, and Paul shot up from his chair, already knowing that it would be Adam outside. Coming out of the office and into the foyer, he was having trouble keeping the corners of his mouth steady as he prepared to roast the young man for a little while before revealing that Madeline wasn't really that angry with him. When Paul opened the door however, his plan was instantly forgotten—as was the smile he had been fighting away.

"Good evening, Paul . . . I, uh . . . is Madeline here?"

The doctor was about to ask him if he was unwell but thought better of it. Without a word, he stood to the side to allow the Cartwright entrance. Adam stepped inside the house, quickly scanning the foyer and just as Paul had feared, the young man looked even worse up-close. His paleness was enhanced by the dark stubble along his jaw and cheeks and his brows were pinched together in that telltale sign of a headache. What really got to Paul though, was the openly mournful expression on his usually guarded face.

"Well . . . she's in the kitchen," Paul said in a casual tone, but continued scrutinizing Adam who was looking at anywhere else than him.

"She . . . told you what happened?"

"Mm-hmm."

He nodded, but Adam made no move down the hall and an unfamiliar silence stretched out between the two friends. In the end, Paul gave the young man a little pat on the shoulder, hiding his own surprise at just how badly affected Adam seemed to be by the current situation between him and Madeline.

"It's all right, lad. Sally and I have paved the way for you. Go on in, you won't be sent away."

Adam met his eyes, searching for some visible proof that the doctor's words were true while Paul was more concerned with the exhaustion he saw staring back at him.

He didn't say anything, Adam just gathered himself in one heaving breath and then walked slowly past the doctor. He went down the hall without an ounce of the usual determination and self-assurance in his gait.

xXXx

Madeline was cleaning the workbench when she sensed someone in the doorway at the edge of her sight. First, she thought it was her uncle who'd come back for something but when nothing happened, she turned fully around and saw Adam standing there. She was relieved to see him, yet startled by his appearance and she immediately worried that he was ill. He looked straight at her but then bowed his head and she wished that her face didn't bear the obvious traces of her crying. It ended up being her who spoke first.

"Hi . . ."

"Hi . . . I couldn't leave things like this between us . . ."

He moved just past the kitchen doorway then stopped, as if he didn't dare go any closer to her.

"Madeline, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you unhappy . . . for raising my voice at you that way. But I can't apologize for how I behaved towards Fred Clayton. I can't lie to you and tell you that I would act differently if something like that happened again."

"It's all right . . ."

"No, it's not." He rubbed a palm across his brow in a weary motion. "I shouldn't have yelled, you were upset and I should have been understanding."

"Adam, it's all right."

She walked towards him and the despair she had felt since that afternoon was gone—replaced by her deep concern for him. It was odd really, that very day she'd thought about the first time she met him at the county fair and now his tormented countenance and the dejected set of his shoulders reminded her again of that time. The realization hit her hard, that the reason why he wasn't approaching her, was because he thought she might send him away again. She instinctively knew that it had been the worst possible thing she could have done to him earlier when she'd asked him to leave. Her steps quickened until she stopped right in front of him, her eyes flickering over his down-turned face.

"I understand why you did what you did, even if I don't quite agree with your methods. I was very upset at the time, but I'm not anymore. It seems that you came to my rescue once again . . ."

The last part was said in a lighter tone, but he didn't react to it and she wanted so badly for him to lift his head and let her see what he was thinking. Carefully, she laid her hands on his where they were clutching his black hat.

"I am glad you came back. I want you to be here . . ."

His eyelids fluttered uncertainly before he finally looked at her and his expression sent a bolt of anguish striking her, straight in the heart. But then he hid it from her view when he suddenly leaned forward, slowly, tentatively wrapping his arms around her in an embrace. She returned it without hesitation and as his cheek settled against the top of her head, she gently stroked her hands up and down his broad back, doing everything she could to welcome and soothe his sudden show of vulnerability. It was a new and very intimate way of touching him, but it didn't make her uncomfortable. It simply felt right. His back lifted and sank down again, and it became clear to her that the incident at the restaurant couldn't be the sole reason for his fatigue and melancholy mood. By now she knew him well enough not to ask about the things he wasn't ready to share and when they pulled apart, she tried to act as normally as possible, showing him in her way that things were fine between them and that she understood. And that she didn't expect anything from him.

"You look tired . . . why don't you go into the sitting room? I'm sure Uncle Paul is almost finished with his work. I will just finish cleaning up out here and I'll be in too." She paused, eyeing him hopefully. "You are staying for supper?"

"Yea, I'd like that . . ."

He managed a ghost of his usual half smile, but she would settle for that for now. Releasing his hands, she smiled tenderly at him. "Go in and sit down, I will be there in a moment."

She could practically see the tension drain out of him, making him look even more tired but at least he seemed to relax a bit. As he left the kitchen, she continued cleaning the workbench, feeling more at peace with herself than she had for the last couple of hours. After such an emotional day, all she wanted now was to be with him, make him smile again and soak up the comfort his presence gave her.


	16. Chapter 16

_Author's Notes_

 _Here we go, another long and slightly different chapter. I have to say another thanks to you all, members and guests, for reviewing and sharing your thoughts on the story, I really love reading them. I never expected this._

 _(For "A Reader", thank you for your very generous compliments and for the in-depth review you wrote for chapter 14. It gave me a good idea about what things are working in my story and writing, and I appreciate that very much.)_

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

 _Smoke. There was nothing but thick, black smoke. No sun, no sky, no ground, only the sound of guns and canons, horses and men screaming. He stumbled through the dark fog, his feet constantly getting caught on God knows what and he was terrified of losing his balance completely—of ending up sprawled out down beside them—of being unable to find his way back up. Go, charge, forward, he thought. Or maybe he shouted it. His brain was trying to get his legs to move faster but everything seemed so slow, like he was running through water and the smoke was so huge, so stifling he didn't even know if his body was still in one piece because he could see absolutely nothing. The only feeling that existed was numbness._

 _God, he hated the smoke._

 _But there was one thing he hated even more, and that was the smell. It was a unique blend of black powder, iron and blood, an odor that burned his nostrils and made bile rise in his throat. When talking about war, most people shuddered at the thought of the grisly sights of the dead lying strewn about the battlefield or the sound of the screams coming from the suffering wounded, drifting up across the defeated grounds. But one thing that could never be imagined by those who hadn't been in battle, was the smell. The stench of war and of death._

 _It was just a dream, and he knew it. But there was no way out of it, it was impossible to wake up and he kept moving forwards, his feet stepping down onto soft, rolling lumps because by now, he'd given up on trying to avoid them_ — _there were just too many. All of a sudden, a clearing appeared up ahead and there was the sound of a horse whinnying in panic. It came galloping into the clearing and he saw that something was badly wrong with it because the animal had no face. He looked up at the rider and knew who it was immediately, the blue eyes boring into him with the sharpness of a bayonet._

 _This was his chance. He wanted to say how sorry he was, but those blue eyes were cold and unforgiving, and he realized that words were useless now. It was too late. Everything burned; his eyes, his nose, his throat, it even felt like the smoky air was on fire when he sucked in a scorching mouthful. But the rider's eyes were merciless, and he couldn't look away from them. It was awful when the blue irises turned liquid and trickled down the rider's cheeks like tears, leaving behind only white around tiny black pupils. It was even worse when green replaced the blue, and when the blond locks turned chestnut brown._

 _He instinctively moved forward towards the familiar form atop the faceless horse. These eyes were so familiar, he could cry as he gazed into them_. _He'd known them since they first opened_ _and_ _he had been one of the very first things they'd ever seen in the world. But suddenly they stared at him with that same infinite sadness and blame as the blue ones had just seconds before and in his panicking mind, he knew that no amount of begging would ever earn him the forgiveness he didn't deserve. When the rider turned his horse around, a strangled shout escaped his mouth, but the rider ignored him and set off at a mad gallop back towards the gunfire and canons. He could only watch in complete horror as the beast's legs suddenly broke all at once in grotesque angles and the rider went flying, landing somewhere in the fog with a dull thump. A howl of intense sorrow was caught in his lungs, and he ran, tumbled forward to where the horse lay on its side. He stared down at the rider, the neck twisted horribly, those green eyes glazed over and dead to the world, the unruly locks tangled and messy with blood. The worst thing about the sight though, was the slow smile spreading across the white lips._

* * *

"You hear what I said? . . . Adam?"

Hoss put a careful hand on his brother's shoulder and Adam immediately jumped, dropping the rope he was holding.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle ya none . . ."

"It's okay Hoss. I just wasn't paying attention."

With a tired sigh, Adam bent down to pick up the rope and placed it on the table by the chuckwagon. Wiping the sweat off his brow with his forearm, he turned to his sibling.

"What were you saying?"

"It weren't important, I just can't wait for this chore to be over." Hoss squinted up at the sun, his face flushed and glistening. "I swear, it's too dang warm to be working with them tenacious horses. And with Joe being so hot under the collar all the time . . . that sure ain't helpin' matters."

"Yea, I know," Adam said, reaching for his canteen on the table. "That's why I sent him back to the house to pick up some supplies, I thought a little break would do him some good."

"Well, he got back a little while ago, but he seemed just as cranky." Frowning, Hoss studied his older brother, not liking what he was seeing. "I came over here to see if ya needed some help checkin' out them strays we found."

"You mean you came over to check up on _me_."

There was neither humor nor annoyance in Adam's statement, and he took a swig of his canteen, working the water around his mouth before spitting it out onto the dusty ground.

"You sure you're all right?" Hoss asked, not bothering to hide his concern now. "You've earned yurself a break, there ain't no need to push on like this."

"For the twentieth time, I'm fine." Adam clapped him on the back, then quickly changed the subject. "How's it coming along with those horses?"

Hoss' frown grew and turned just a little exasperated. It didn't seem like Adam noticed it though because he was watching the herd of strays, his manner distracted again.

"It's lookin' just fine. Sammy got the first three of 'em broke and Joe is about to try that black stallion he caught out by Silver Creek. Little brother ain't hardly gonna be able to sit down for sup—"

"Did you say he's gonna ride the black one?"

Adam was already moving in the direction of the corral, his gait quickening when he spotted Joe talking to some cowhands in the distance.

"Uhm, Adam . . ." Hoss hurried after him. "Is somethin' wrong?"

No reply came. In fact, Adam hadn't even taken in the question. All he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and he headed straight for Joe, feeling completely detached from everything and everyone else around him. He couldn't let this happen. Not again.

When he came to a stop beside his youngest brother and the hands, he licked his dry lips and then calmly interrupted Joe mid-sentence.

"We're waiting with the black one. You're not riding him today."

There were a number of reasons why things went as wrong as they did. Obviously, Adam's less than tactful way of approaching the matter would have rubbed his hot-tempered sibling the wrong way on any day, but on this particular one, Joe was exceptionally thin-skinned and touchy. Those two factors proved to be quite an explosive combination.

"Oh yea? I don't see what my horse has to do with you, Adam. I'm riding him."

The three cowhands glanced uncomfortably at each other and Hoss looked back and forth between his two siblings with a wrinkled forehead.

"I just told you that you're not riding him, he's too wild. That's the end of it," Adam said firmly. "Either come and help me or do some fence mending."

"Why don't you just stay out of my business?!" Joe turned his body fully towards his brother and his top lip curled up, revealing a glimmer of white teeth. "I caught him, he's my horse and I'll break him when I want to."

"I'm not interested in arguing with you, Joe. If you don't agree with my decision, go and take it up with Pa. But right now, out here—I am still the one in charge."

"You don't get to decide how I handle my own horse!"

Hoss visibly cringed at the crossed arms and indifferent pose Adam struck, knowing how much it triggered their younger brother and the three cowhands discreetly moved away from the escalating confrontation.

"I don't know what's bothering you lately, _little_ brother but I'm tired of you acting like a baby. Maybe you need another ride back to the house to cool off."

Joe took a step closer to Adam, his voice coming out as an angry snarl. " _You're_ the one who's always in a mood around here! _You_ should be taking a ride back to the house, and you shouldn't come back until you're fit to be around other people again!"

Adam looked as if he'd been slapped in the face and his mouth slowly fell closed. A flicker of hesitation flashed in Joe's eyes because he hadn't actually meant the words in that way, but hearing them out loud outside of his own head—he was very aware of how bad they sounded. And of the deeper meaning Adam would be reading into them.

"You want us to bring him in, Joe?"

A cowhand who clearly had no idea what was transpiring had called out the question from where he stood with some other men by the bucking chute. Joe didn't want to hurt his brother, but he was angry and embarrassed over being talked to in such a demeaning way in front of the men, so he replied with a call over his shoulder.

"Yea, bring him in!"

He began to turn around and Adam finally shook himself from his stupor. Seeing the stallion kick and buck savagely as it was forced into the bucking chute sent a cold rush of fear running through him and the images from the sickening nightmare he'd had in the night replayed before his eyes. In something close to desperation, he reached for Joe's arm.

"Joe wait, you are NOT riding that horse, I'm ord—"

"You're what, Adam?!" Joe swung back to him. "You're _ordering_ me?! Well, you're not in the army anymore, remember? You got no cause to _order_ me or anyone else around! It's about time you got that through your thick granite head."

He shrugged Adam's hand away and stomped over to the bucking chute, leaving his oldest brother standing there speechless. For the second time within minutes, he startled when a cautious hand touched his back.

"Easy Adam, he knows what he's doing. Joe is the dadburned finest horse-breaker we got . . . let's you and me go and sit down in the shade for a while, okay?"

"No . . ."

Hoss looked on in worry as Adam walked with a bit of a stumble to the corral fence. He leaned on the top rail, staring at Joe and the black horse, a dazed expression stuck to his colorless face. Joe carefully lowered himself onto the horse's back and he pressed his lips together into a tight line before giving the hands a nod. When they opened the chute, the stallion leaped out and it was definitely one of Joe's wildest rides. The beast bucked, kicked and sprinted around—fighting with everything it had to remove the unfamiliar weight from its back. Joe moved his own body to balance out the animal's wild motions as the sweat poured down his temples and the cowhands gave shouts of encouragement, all of them filled with admiration for the young man's skill. Adam was gripping the top rail of the fence so tightly that Hoss half expected the wood to splinter into a hundred pieces. There were a few close calls where Joe only barely stayed on the horse, but he managed to curve his body and stayed in the saddle each time the stallion jumped. After a while, everyone could see that most of the fight was out of the animal and Joe began to relax as the bucking slowly ceased. When the horse finally stopped, there were cheers from the cowhands and Joe wore a broad smile as he stroked the horse's pulsing neck. Hoss didn't add his own applause to his younger brother's accomplishment—he was too caught up in trying to discern the odd look on his other sibling's face.

Adam stepped away from the fence. Even though Joe looked happy and proud and was—most importantly—unharmed, the only thing Adam could see was that vision of his baby brother lying on a bed of smoke, his neck broken, his eyes unseeing and that awful, twisted smile on his lips.

"Adam?"

"Just . . . give me a couple of minutes, Hoss."

He walked back towards the chuckwagon and gradually managed to regain some control over his thoughts, fragile as it was. After the night, and day he'd had so far, the last thing he'd needed was Joe's temper released onto him. He ended up by Sport where the big chestnut was standing in the shade of a tree. The white muzzle bumped his shoulder and he absentmindedly rubbed it, waiting for the gruesome images to return to their hiding place in the back of his mind. A while later, he heard someone approaching from behind him, but he couldn't really blame his brother—more than just a couple of minutes had definitely gone by. He spun around and spoke before Hoss had a chance to even open his mouth.

"I'm gonna head back to the house. Plenty of work to do there, a couple of things need fixing in the barn. It looks like you can handle everything here."

Walking around to Sport's left side, he mounted up and Hoss came closer.

"Adam, what Joe said . . . he didn't mean it the way it sounded, ya gotta know that."

"Didn't he, Hoss?"

The challenge in his voice made Hoss' head drop.

"I reckon he's just sore about things not goin' so well with Maisy and all. Ya know how he gets."

"It's not just that and you know it." Adam's sight drifted to the corral where Joe was getting ready to mount another bronco. "Anyway, that fight wasn't his fault. At least not entirely his fault. Maybe he's right. Maybe I'm not fit to be around regular folks anymore . . ."

That last sentence hung dangling between them, scraping against the boundaries of some forbidden ground. Hoss' eyes shot to him sharply. "What do ya mean by that, Adam?"

The time it took before Adam answered was unnervingly long. "Oh, nothing." He shook his head. "Just forget it."

He nudged Sport and moved out of the shade. "I'll see you later. Keep an eye on him, hmm?"

Hoss only nodded, and watched his brother ride off until the last bit of him had disappeared. The big man certainly wasn't pegged as being the smartest of the Cartwrights, but he was much more perceptive than people gave him credit for. He had an idea about the private struggle raging inside his older brother—on some level he had known about it for weeks. But he'd held out a hope that with time, Adam would settle back in his old life and he still longed for things to be the way they had been before the war. He still believed that Adam could be happy and find peace on the Ponderosa, but he feared that the thing which hindered that from happening was deeply embedded somewhere in his brother's own mind.

By the time he'd plodded back to the corral, Joe had finished breaking his second horse and was leaning back against the enclosure's fence, swallowing down a large gulp of water from his canteen.

"So, where did the _captain_ go?"

His pronunciation of the military rank was underlined with sarcasm, but Hoss just responded in his usual calming manner.

"Back to the house. Don't ya think you were a mite hard on 'im?"

"Well he shouldn't have stuck his nose in where it doesn't belong!"

"You know Joe, the way I see it, older brother has missed out on four years of 'stickin' his nose in where it don't belong' and I reckon we can't hardly blame him for making up for that now."

It was simple and straight to the point like only Hoss could say it and Joe's attention turned to the canteen he was holding.

"Anyways, he wasn't just trying to rile you, seemed to me that he was real worried about ya, can't say that I know why. I guess he's just havin' one of them off-days again."

That information made Joe wince and he soon released a low mumble.

"I didn't mean what I said. At least not the way he probably took it . . ."

"I know that, shortshanks. Told him so too. But I think he has gotta hear it from you."

Joe was quiet, wishing he had cooled off enough to say the things that needed saying before Adam had ridden away.

"You okay, Joe? Ya seem like there's a lot goin' on in that mind of yours lately. Things ain't working out so well with Maisy, huh?"

Massaging the back of his neck, Joe gave into his brother's gentle questioning, knowing he had been a bit of a bear to be around for the last couple of days.

"No, I guess not. She's been talking about marriage and those kind of things. It's just that the more I've gotten to know her . . . now it's like I'm not so sure anymore that I love her that way . . ."

"Well, if you ain't sure, I reckon you got your answer right there."

A faint smile made it to Joe's face. "You're getting pretty wise in your old age, you know that, you big galoot?"

"You just watch who you're callin' old." Hoss grinned and smacked Joe on the shoulder with exaggerated force. "Now, are you gonna do some more work, or are we gonna stand here yabbin all day?"

* * *

Hours later in the afternoon, Madeline was wandering along the riverbank at Silver Creek. It had become a somewhat regular engagement on Fridays, she would ride out in a surrey to the Ponderosa and when Adam finished his work they would head out together, often ending up at Silver Creek since she held a special fondness for the place.

She peered over at the still, black-clad form, but he lay exactly as she'd left him—resting back against the tree they always sat by, his hands folded across his stomach. A sound from behind brought a smile to her lips and although she anticipated the soft bump against her back, it still elicited a little giggle. She turned around and began caressing Sport's chin, whispering her private thoughts to the big horse who seemed to understand every word.

When she'd gotten up to stroll along the creekbank, he'd followed her around, and she found it heartwarming to see that he kept making little trips back to his master, as if to check that his human was all right and resting peacefully. It seemed appropriate somehow, that the quiet words she spoke at this intimate moment were all about Adam. The man who meant so much to both of them—the common link between her and the beautiful horse. There was something oddly satisfying about being able to talk openly about the ever-growing affection, admiration and yes, _love_ , she felt for the dark Cartwright, and who better to share those things with than the creature whose whole life revolved around the very person who was becoming the center of hers? Talking to Sport gave her a way of feeling closer to Adam, especially at the times when he was being distant like he was today.

Since they'd ridden out, he had been quieter than usual and even though she had learned that he was susceptible to those brooding moods, this was the first time she'd been unsuccessful in drawing him out of it. It was during one of those long silences between them, that his eyelids had fallen closed while she was once again marveling at the beauty and tranquility surrounding her. When she had looked back at him, she'd just watched him quietly for several minutes, hoping that he would get some of the rest he so clearly needed.

The little stroll along the creek had been pleasant, but her thoughts were still on him. With a last affectionate pat to Sport's neck, she glanced over at the tree again and a strong urge to go back to Adam suddenly overcame her. Even if just to sit and watch him sleep—she needed to be close to him. Sport sensed that their walk had come to an end and moseyed over to the grey mare that Madeline had ridden sidesaddle out to the creek.

Her steps were practically soundless as she approached Adam, but when she was just a few feet away, his hand lifted from his stomach and stretched out in her direction, his eyes still closed.

"I thought you had fallen asleep . . ."

Her cheeks dimpled slightly as she linked her hand with his and sat down on her knees on the checkered blanket.

"Mmm, not really, I just didn't want to interrupt Sport's bonding time with you." One hazel orb peeked out from beneath a black lash. "What were you two talking about anyway?"

She smiled. "You."

"Of course, you were. And I'll bet he had plenty of complaints to make about me. Too many days spent rounding up stubborn steers, not enough treats, barn stall too small . . ."

He stroked a thumb across her knuckles and she watched him thoughtfully.

"Actually, neither of us were complaining about you. Besides, he seems much too pleased with the company you picked out for him to be grumpy."

She looked over at the two horses and saw how Sport was shaking his head wildly, trying to get the filly's attention as she continued to graze, clearly playing hard to get.

Facing Adam again, the delight in Madeline's expression faded. He was staring at the same sight as her but seeing something entirely different. Picking at the ruffles of her flounced skirt, she considered the best way to handle the situation.

"Adam?"

"Yea."

"You seem . . . distracted today . . ."

His thumb stopped the stroking motion and she heard him expel a slow breath.

"I don't mean to be, Madeline."

"I know that. Perhaps I can help?"

The only sound that followed her question was the faint chirping from the Mountain Bluebird on a branch somewhere above them. He stayed silent for so long, she'd almost given up on receiving any kind of response when suddenly, his deep voice broke through the quiet.

"Joe and I had sort of a disagreement earlier." He sat up straighter. "Well . . . more of an argument."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her tone cautious. "Is that why he wasn't at the house?"

"Probably. I guess he figured he'd stay away and avoid running into me for as long as he can."

"So, you didn't . . . resolve your differences?"

"No. No we didn't."

Lapsing into that pensive silence again, he gazed out at the creek as she studied the side of his face. While she wouldn't ask him to share the details of the argument with her, the wish that he would choose to do so by his own will burned deep in her heart. It was very obvious to her that there was more to this than a simple disagreement between brothers, and she knew that his evident exhaustion couldn't have been caused by an argument a few hours earlier. It made her feel helpless because he'd only allowed her a small glimpse through a breach in the walls he habitually had up. And she wanted to help him, she wanted him to _talk_ , to let her _know_ him. But who, of all people, was _she_ to ask that of him?

Giving his still hand a little squeeze, she made another attempt at lightening his spirits.

"Perhaps later, when you have both had some time to think—"

"I'm not sure if he wants to see me later or even at all."

Her mouth opened, and she stared at him in shock.

"Adam, you can't honestly mean that . . ."

"No, I . . . no, I'm sorry, you're right." He harshly rubbed his other hand across his face. "I just . . . I know he says things sometimes when he is angry that he doesn't mean, but I—" He stopped, his shoulders drooping. "It wasn't even the kid's fault . . ."

"Go on," she said softly, at the risk of him shutting her out.

He continued looking out at the creek. "We were working at the corral breaking horses and Joe got the idea that he wanted to break the wildest, meanest-looking stallion of the bunch." Feeling him tense up, she pressed her fingers gently against his palm.

"I asked him to leave the horse. Actually . . . I _told_ him to leave the horse. It probably came out more as an order." He paused and grimaced. "In front of a few of the cowhands."

"I see."

She now had a pretty good idea of what had happened earlier. She'd witnessed Adam lose his cool before and with what she knew about Joe's tendency towards being quick-tempered, it really wasn't hard to imagine how things had gone as they did. What puzzled her, was Adam's handling of the situation.

"You have told me before how skillful Joe is when it comes to breaking horses. You even said he is the best you have ever seen."

"Yes, and that's true . . . but this was . . . today was _different_."

The last word hung on an uncertain note and his dark brows inched closer together.

"How was today different, Adam?"

"Madeline, I—"

He abruptly broke off when he faced her. Tipping her head a little to the side, she spent a long moment showering him with heartfelt understanding and compassion, delivering it all through a simple eye lock, which they both knew at this point, was a thousand things more. His Adam's apple slowly bobbed down, then rose back up.

"Sometimes," he mumbled in a hoarse voice, "sometimes at night I don't sleep too well. There are . . . dreams . . . and they _affect_ me. And my thinking . . ."

She tried to remain unfazed. The admission didn't surprise her, but he seemed befuddled by it himself. She'd guessed that he had this struggle a while ago. What caused her distress, was seeing that vulnerability she had caught flashes of a few times before and she waited for him to do or say something to cover it up as he always did. But his countenance had changed, and he said nothing else, just kept looking straight at her, like he was waiting for her to show him how to do this.

"These dreams . . . I imagine they must be quite upsetting?"

He gave a faint nod.

"And you had such a dream last night?"

"Yes."

His eyes became half-closed as he looked down to their entwined hands and she sat completely still, waiting, hoping.

"I dreamed I was back at war. It's always that. And there was a person I used to know. A young man—just an overgrown boy really. He was the youngest in my company." Wistfulness tugged at his features and made the sides of his mouth lift slightly. "The men ribbed him a lot for that, but everyone looked out for him, he was like everybody's little brother. There was just this thing about him . . . the kid had guts."

"And he reminded you of Joe?"

Adam looked back at her in mild surprise.

"Yes. He always made me think about Joe. Not that they looked anything like each other . . . it was his spirit, that thirst for life, I guess."

His chest lifted with a deep breath. "In my dream I first saw that boy from the army, but then all of a sudden Joe was there with me instead. Amidst the smoke and . . . the noise. He was on a horse and I wanted to talk to him, I needed to say things to him, but he charged towards the battle and . . . he fell . . . I watched him fall off the horse. When I got to him, it was too late. I lost him."

A hard lump clogged Madeline's throat when he averted his eyes, and she knew that she could never imagine the frightful scene that must be in his mind. She also had the inclination that horrifying as the dream sounded, he was probably giving her a mild version of it.

"Adam, it is understandable how you reacted earlier when you saw Joe with that horse after having a nightmare like that. You are too hard on yourself . . ."

It took a little while, but when he eventually met her gaze, she was overwhelmed by what those soulful depths of golden-brown told her. For a moment, it was like glimpsing straight into his world, his story. His very soul. She saw a battlefield of emotions where pride struggled with doubt, where despair threatened to conquer hope and where anguished guilt was in eternal parley with forgiveness. In the midst of it all was pain, such incomprehensible suffering that a small part of her wanted to look away, but she wouldn't do that to him.

When she spoke, her voice was little more than a whisper.

"That boy from the army . . . what happened to him?"

"He was injured and died."

His reply was toneless, and Madeline found that she had no way of expressing the aching sorrow she felt for him. There were so many comforting things she wanted to say to him then, but instead, what slipped out was a question she had wanted to ask him for a long time.

"Adam, were you . . . did you ever get . . . hurt?"

An expression that came close to a flinch crossed his face just before his chin dropped to his chest and she instantly wanted to take it back, thinking she'd pushed him too far. What seemed like a timeless moment passed, when suddenly, he lifted their linked hands and settled them on his thigh, just above his left knee. He untangled his own hand and took hold of her forefinger, gently pressing it down against the black fabric. Her face cleared when it dawned on her that he was, in his own way, answering her question. She stared at where her finger pointed, realizing that just beneath the cloth must be a mark, left behind by some kind of injury he'd sustained during the war. After a moment, he took her hand and moved her up to his left arm, tracing her finger in a horizontal line along the curve of his bicep. Although she couldn't feel anything other than the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt, the slicing outline he drew, immediately made her think that this hidden injury had been caused by a bladed weapon. The knowledge that he'd been in such close combat, made a shiver run through her body, even though she logically had known this to be very likely. He lowered her hand again and hovered in the air indecisively, just by his side. Then finally, he brought her to touch his left flank, pushing her finger against a very particular spot. The seriousness of a wound in that location would have been obvious to most, but with her nursing background it truly hit home and her breath caught somewhere in her throat. The shirt fabric felt practically transparent at that point and she could almost feel the scar pressing against her. With this one, she raised her head and looked at him in silent plea.

"Rifle shot," he murmured.

She moved her finger in a tiny, circular caress, the touch gentle and so very tender. He closed his eyes and she watched his face with heart-stirring awe and thankfulness. Then he lifted her hand again, bringing it to his lips where he placed a soft, warm kiss on her knuckles.

"I am sorry, Adam. For what has happened and for what you still struggle with. For _all of it,"_ she said as his eyes opened, and there was a calmness in the brilliant hazel which hadn't been there a few minutes ago. "But I am so very happy that _you_ are still here now . . ."

He was all talked out, she recognized that, and when he leaned towards her, she moved to meet him. The kiss that followed was intense and spine-tingling as his kisses always were, but it was also different—deeper. It was amazing how he seemed to continue baring his soul to her through the touch of his lips. She felt privileged that he had shown her this openness even though it had clearly been hard for him. As she started to lose herself in the thrilling delight his tongue was rousing, a tiny voice in the back of her head kept telling her that she needed to do the same for him, and soon.

* * *

It was almost seven o'clock when Adam rode into the yard. He'd escorted Madeline back to town even after she'd insisted that she would be fine on her own. The need to make _sure_ she would be safe and the want to spend as much time with her as possible had spurred his own insistence. Also, the solitary ride home had been just what he'd needed—a chance to work through all the strange things that had happened over the course of the day.

He walked into the barn with Sport following him, still absorbed in his thoughts as he lit the lamp hanging on the wall by the stalls.

It had been a tough day, one that he thought back on now as being bittersweet, and Madeline was responsible for the sweet turn it had taken. In spite of being physically exhausted and mentally drained, he felt _lighter_ somehow. Breathing seemed easier, and though the world around him was still quite the same, he felt a little more connected to it. For so long, he'd been worried about Madeline finding out about the sheer misery he carried around inside. He'd had the idea that his darkness would somehow smear her natural brightness, her innocence—as if exposing her to it would leave her pure, good heart tainted by it. But he'd opened up to her and she was still there now, offering him only understanding and acceptance. Whether he was deserving of it or not. That was something he still wasn't sure of.

After removing the saddle from Sport's back, he began taking off the bridle when a little noise behind him made his arms still. He spun around in the blink of an eye, his gun already drawn and aimed when he took in the presence by the open barn door.

"Joe . . ." He released a quiet curse as his shoulders sank back down. "You know better . . . sneaking up on a man like that."

Holstering his gun, he returned to loosening the headgear around his impatient horse.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you, just heard you ride in" Joe walked further into the barn, the light from the lamp illuminating his anxious face, but Adam had his back to him and didn't see it.

"Adam, I wanted to talk to you . . ."

"Look, if it's about what happened earlier, I'm really not in the mood. I just want to sneak past Hop Sing and get to bed. It's been a long day."

Adam hung the bridle up on the hook on the wall, and Joe caught the weary way he moved. "You're all right, aren't you? Is everything okay with you and Madeline?"

Hearing the unmistakable concern in his little brother's voice made Adam turn around and look at Joe properly for the first time.

"Yea, we're fine." His tiredness was forgotten as his full attention settled on the younger man. "What about you?"

"I'm fine too." Joe stepped over to Cochise's stall to pet the pinto. "Well, except, things haven't been going all that great with Maisy. I guess you've noticed that . . ."

"I suppose you have been sliiiightly more _testy_ than your usual mellow self."

Adam went closer to his brother, the good-natured teasing in his expression drawing out a trace of that heart-breaker-Joe Cartwright-smile.

"I talked with Hoss earlier, after you rode home. He made me realize that since I'm so unsure about how I feel about Maisy, I probably don't feel the way I should. I know that I care a lot about her, just not like _that_. At least not anymore. I'm pretty sure she feels the same, but maybe she doesn't know it herself."

Adam listened, knowing that what Joe often needed was this—just to be allowed to talk and share his thoughts without being interrupted or advised.

"The thing is," Joe halted, scratching Cochise behind the ear. "She just doesn't look at me the same way like . . . well, like Madeline looks at you."

Adam's insides felt suddenly warm and fizzy and it amazed him that barely two hours had passed since he'd said goodbye to her and now he was already craving her nearness again. Noticing his younger sibling's silence, he shifted his focus back onto the conversation.

"Madeline and Maisy are two very different women, I don't think you can compare our relationships that way. But you might be right. What you and Maisy share could be more of a friendly affection rather than love."

Joe's head jerked to him. "You love Madeline?"

The question took Adam by surprise even though it shouldn't have. However, as it sank in, he had one of those rare moments of clarity and the answer seemed so simple.

"Yes, I love her."

"And she loves you, right?"

Adam was still a little dazed by the declaration of love that had just left his mouth and Joe's new query was one he was even less prepared for.

"I don't . . . we haven't exactly—" He turned back to Sport, away from those curious, green eyes. "It's complicated, Joe."

Just when he thought this day couldn't get any stranger, and here he was, making profound announcements and sharing details of his love-life with his baby brother!

"Or maybe you're just making something that's real straightforward into complicated because . . . well, you're you."

"Oh, so that's what you think, huh?" Adam faced him, pleased to see some of the natural sparkle back in the younger man's gaze. "What was it you said earlier . . ." He rubbed his chin with a finger. "Something about me staying out of your business?"

It was meant as an easygoing jibe, but Joe quickly turned somber again.

"I'm real sorry about earlier. What I said about you not being fit to be around other people, I didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Joe, I shouldn't have riled you up that way," Adam broke in and moved over to him, "just forget it."

"But I didn't mean it like you thought!" Joe insisted and paused to chew on his bottom lip. "I want you to know that . . . it's just so good to have you back home. And things have been going pretty well lately, and now that you're more settled in, things are only gonna get easier for you and . . . things are only gonna get better. Don't you think so?"

The insecurity displayed so plainly on his little brother's face stirred the growing guilt and doubt Adam secretly harbored inside. Then he did something their pa had always done often but that Adam only rarely did; he reached out to Joe, and instead of giving the usual quick pat, he gently rubbed the young man's shoulder and his hand stayed there. He offered up a smile, but it only touched the lower part of his face.

"Sure little buddy. Things will be fine."

Adam had used the affectionate name regularly for Joe as a kid, but not as much when he'd become older and it always touched the youngest Cartwright in a way his big brother would never know. The last time he'd said it, was on the day they'd ridden to the county fair and hearing it now made Joe grin like he'd struck the richest gold mine on the Comstock yet.

"I just know they will, Adam!"

With a little nod, Adam released Joe's shoulder and went over to grab the horse brush hanging on the wall.

"How about you help me give old Sport a brush-down so we can both go into the house and relax?"

"I'll take care of him and you can just go inside. Like you said, you've had a long day."

"There's no need for that, Joe," Adam said, walking into Sport's stall where the horse was waiting for some pampering. "I don't mind doing this."

Joe followed and went to the chestnut's other side, pausing hesitantly. "It's just that Pa is probably pacing around the sitting room and driving Hoss crazy. He wasn't happy when I told him what happened earlier and, well, he's worried about you."

Adam looked over Sport's back, one eyebrow lifting. "Did he also tell you to go out here and talk things out?"

"No, _I_ had to convince _him_ to let me be the one to go out here so I could talk to you first."

The earnest honesty on Joe' face made Adam's expression soften. "I think Pa can wait another few minutes while I take care of this. But I'd like some company . . ."

There it was again—that infectious Little Joe-grin that always rubbed off on those around him. "Sure, Adam. I'll help you."

Joe went to get another horse brush and the two brothers worked quietly together, each of them glancing up with a smile when the other wasn't looking.


	17. Chapter 17

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello everyone! After a very emotional chapter, this one is a little more lighthearted. I feel I can't say it enough_ — _I really appreciate all your reviews. I will try to keep new chapters coming as quickly as possible and I hope you all like this one._

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

Adam folded his hands by his mouth, his elbows leaning on the desk as he stared down at the letter. He'd looked forward to reading it ever since Hoss came home with the mail, and he'd naturally thought that Jim had written to give him another update on the men. But instead, this message was of a very personal nature and specifically involved Henry, Adam's second Lieutenant.

He picked up the letter and held it out in front of him, the seriousness in the written words pulling his dark eyebrows lower.

It was clear that Jim was concerned about their mutual friend and as Adam read for the second time, he wasn't that surprised by what Jim had to say. When the war had ended, Henry had been among the ones who seemed most affected by everything that had happened, and Adam had worried about him even then. But Henry was much like Adam himself, a quiet and reserved type who didn't really share his troubles. That common trait had brought them closer together though, and they'd spent quite a few nights gazing up at the stars, just being in each other's silent company when neither of them could face sleep. Since Adam had travelled home, they'd written to one another regularly, but Henry hadn't replied to his last letter a few weeks ago. And now, after reading Jim's description of their friend's state, he understood why.

Putting the letter down again, he pursed his lips and watched the flickering flame in the lamp on his desk. He knew what he wanted to do—he'd known after reading the first half of Jim's message. There was just one thing holding him back. Or rather, one person. And that was his father.

He sat there for another few minutes considering his options, but he realized that he wouldn't find a better solution than the one he already had in mind. So, he rose from the chair and went to open his bedroom door. Peeking out into the dark hall, he listened for any sounds but there were none. It was almost midnight and Joe and Hoss had both gone to bed early, but Adam hadn't heard his father come up yet. He stepped out into the hall and walked towards the top of the staircase. After taking the first two steps down, he had a clear view of the dimly lit sitting room and he stopped, a soft smile spreading across his mouth.

His father was sitting cross-legged in the red chair by the fireplace, wearing his burgundy robe. His head was slightly bowed, and the lines across his brow ran deeper than they did when he was relaxed. He appeared to be completely engrossed in the book in his hands.

Something strange happened as Adam stood there, and he suddenly felt a hard knot form in his chest. Although he was a grown man now, he felt like a little boy watching his pa in secret, like he'd sometimes done when he was little. It had been a game then, spying on him, sneaking up on him and Adam remembered feeling all proud every time his father jumped in shock when he finally revealed his hiding place. Afterwards, he'd receive some gentle admonishment for scaring his old man like that and a fair amount of tickling almost always followed. It was only when he'd gotten older, after Hoss and Joe had arrived, that he noticed how their father constantly had one eye on each of them and how he always seemed to be aware of where his children were. And Adam had realized that his own four-year-old self could never ever have sneaked up on that man.

They had been through so incredibly much together, just the two of them. Adam knew him in a way that Joe and Hoss didn't and never would. He remembered when there had been hardly any wrinkles on his father's face and when the now greyish-white hair had been dark—not as dark as his own—but darker than Joe's. Now, when he looked at that face, the past and present became one and the lines by the older man's eyes told of smiles, joy and fondness while his forehead told of a lifetime's worth of worries, grief and tragedy. But those deep coffee eyes were just as Adam had always known them, dark and intimidating but also warm and loving.

That was his hero sitting down there and though Adam rarely said it—and actually, he couldn't even remember when he'd last said it—he loved his father with all his heart. And while they didn't always agree on everything, they had been able to talk things over and reach some kind of understanding in most cases.

"Well, are you going to come down here or are you playing that hiding-watching game you used to play when you were a kid?"

Adam's thoughts scattered at the sudden words, and he chuckled a bit as he continued down the stairs. His pa had spoken without removing his attention from the book.

"You always did know where I was, didn't you?"

"I hate to break it to you, son, but you weren't exactly as discreet as you might like to think." Ben raised his head and closed the book as Adam reached the bottom of the staircase. "But I'll admit you got better as you grew older. And when you decided it was more interesting looking at girls than at me, keeping up with you became quite a challenge."

"Yea, I guess I didn't make it easy on you. You had enough important things to worry about."

"You were important too, Adam," Ben said quietly.

Adam didn't reply to that one. He came over to the fireplace and sat down on the edge of the table in front of the cold hearth.

"Pa, there's something I need to ask you."

"All right . . . what's on your mind?"

"I got a letter from Jim today. But it didn't have anything to do with my company or the army really." He glanced sideways and wasn't surprised to see the apprehension in his father's eyes. But he'd started this thing now and he had to go through with it. "Do you remember me mentioning my friend Henry to you?"

Leaning forward in the chair, Ben turned thoughtful. "Henry . . . yes, your second Lieutenant, wasn't he?"

"Yea. Well, he's going through a bit of a tough time and Jim is worried about him. I haven't heard from Henry in a while and that's why Jim wrote me, to tell me how he's doing."

Ben frowned. "And how _is_ he doing?"

"According to Jim, he has good and bad days—sometimes he even seems like his old self. But on the bad days, he goes off to brood somewhere alone." Adam faced the hearth again. "I get the impression that he doesn't quite know what to do with himself at the moment."

"And you want to invite him out here to stay with us for a while?"

Adam's gaze fell to the floor and stayed there. "Yes. But you don't want me to do that, do you?"

Even though he'd expected the following silence, it still disappointed him. He had figured out why his father was so touchy about army-news and about his correspondence with Jim. He couldn't be angry though—he had no right to even be irritated. After all, the older man's private fears weren't exactly unfounded.

"If you think it best," Ben slowly said, "then, of course, we'll welcome Henry here at the Ponderosa and make it as comfortable for him as possible."

Not quite sure if he'd heard correctly, Adam twisted around to his father. ". . . You mean that?"

There was regret and even pain in Ben's countenance, but he covered most of it with a soft look of affection.

"He is your friend and you want to help him. How could I not support that?" As he continued, his voice suddenly sounded weaker and much older than it should. "I'm worried, yes." He looked directly at his son. "And you know why."

The impulse to turn his face away was so strong, but Adam didn't. "Yes. I know why."

Ben nodded quietly, then his eyes became imploring. "All I ask, is that you do your best. Do your best to . . . to keep yourself _here_ with us, son." A sudden smile appeared and while it was nowhere near a grin, it definitely wasn't an empty one. "No matter how old you get, I'll always try to keep up with you and it would be a whole lot easier if you were close by."

Adam swallowed painfully, but managed to return the smile. "I'll do my best, Pa. I promise."

"All right. Then write your friend. He'll be welcome here with us."

The relief washed over him and now that the matter was settled, a little burst of excitement went through him.

"I know this will be a good thing for Henry. I can't tell you how many times I described the Ponderosa to him and he always said that there was no place in the world he would rather see than Lake Tahoe and the high Sierras. He'll love it."

"Mmm, just imagine seeing the sights of the Ponderosa for the first time again." Falling back against the backrest of the chair, Ben stretched out his legs. "It's a magical moment you only get once."

"Yea, it'll be just the right thing for him." Adam brushed a few crumbs off the table which must have been left behind after Hoss had eaten cookies earlier.

"Also, I want him to meet Madeline. I've written to both him and Jim about her and after Henry had spent half a letter kidding me about it, he was pretty interested to hear what she's like." A dimple showed by one side of Adam's mouth. "I'll just have to tell him not to go getting any ideas."

Ben scrutinized his son, his curiosity obvious. "Things have been going well between the two of you, haven't they? You've seemed very happy these last few days."

"Yea . . . I'm going to see her tomorrow. I've got something special planned that I hope she'll like."

"Hmm? Well, that sounds interesting."

With a smug expression, Adam stood from the table. "It will be."

He had that look about him when he was set on giving nothing else away and Ben released a rumbling chuckle as he shook his head. "Well, I'm also going to town tomorrow, to visit Roy. It probably won't be until sometime afternoon though."

"I'm planning on leaving earlier than that, but give my best to Roy if I don't run into him."

"All right, I will."

"Well, I'm for bed now," Adam said, and he thought he might actually be able to fall asleep straight away tonight. "Good night."

"Good night, son. Sleep well."

He walked across the room, over to the stairs and stopped. With one foot on the first step, he turned back around and he seldom allowed for such deep affection to show in his voice as he did then, saying only two little words.

"Thanks, Pa."

Ben regarded him with unmistakable tenderness. "You're welcome, Adam."

As Adam went up the stairs, he reminded himself never to doubt his father. There was no other person who knew or understood him as well as the man who had raised him. It was a powerful thing, his father's support and he only hoped that he would always have it.

* * *

The post office was the first stop Adam made the next day when he got to town. He'd written a letter to Henry and he had no doubt that his friend would be eager to accept the invitation to come out to Nevada. He also sent a wire to Jim, informing him of his plan. In the brief message, he asked Jim to tell Henry about it and to say that a letter with more details would be arriving.

Satisfied with that situation for now, Adam rode on down C Street, enjoying the sunny weather and the slow warmth building inside him like it always did when he was on his way to see Madeline. When he got to Sally's restaurant, he dismounted outside and tied Sport to the hitching rail. The door to the establishment was open and he quickly straightened his string tie and brushed the traces of trail-dust away from his white shirt before jumping up onto the boardwalk and going inside.

The restaurant wasn't too busy. Mostly female guests sat at the tables—many of them members of the Women's Social Club—and a little rush of pride ran through Adam when he noted that the majority of the cakes and pies filling their plates were Madeline's creations. It was amazing what she'd accomplished in just one month and how things had changed. She had won those women over, one by one, simply by being her kindhearted, genuine self, and he couldn't imagine that a person existed who could resist her charm. These days, he enjoyed hearing her excited talk about the meetings she went to every week because it clearly meant so much to her—being accepted by the other ladies and being able to help the community by taking part in different charity events. The need to be socially accepted was so ingrained in her, and while he sometimes wished that she didn't care so much about what other people thought, he understood that she had been brought up a certain way to be a very particular kind of woman. She was a born and bred Southern belle; graceful, sweet, and probably just a little too polite. But he loved her for all those things and wouldn't have her any other way. Her innocence and gentle nature might tempt some people in this rough part of the country to take advantage of her, but he would do everything he could to prevent that from happening.

Taking off his hat, he walked further into the room and inclined his head at the ladies who greeted him by the nearest table. He went over to the counter where Sally was stood with the cash-box. Leaning his arms on the tabletop, he treated her to a crooked smile.

"Well," she breathed, her round cheeks lifting, "if it isn't that dark'n handsome fella again. Someone is going to be mighty glad to see you."

"Hi Sally, is she in the kitchen?"

"Yes, she took an extra shift for one of the other girls, so she's been working since early morning. Get her out of here, will you?"

"My pleasure, Ma'am."

He gave her a sly wink; one of those winks that had caused more weak knees and butterflies on its own than many men could with their hands and lips. Sally Piper was just as affected by it as any woman would be and she followed him with her eyes as he ambled around the counter and disappeared through the doorway to the kitchen. It would take some kind of woman to tame him, and she smiled, already knowing that Madeline was the one to do it.

In the kitchen, Adam instantly spotted Madeline where she stood across the room by a work bench with her back to him. She was wearing that pale yellow dress—one of his favorites—although in truth, all her dresses were favorites of his. But the color of this one complemented her deep brown hair so perfectly, and then of course, it had those tiny puff sleeves which gave such a pleasing view of her milky-white arms and smooth shoulders.

He held his forefinger to his mouth to silence the cooks and waiters who'd seen him come in, and he crossed the floorboards with soundless steps. Stopping just behind her, he clasped his hands behind his back, standing close enough to look over her shoulder and see that she was stacking cookies neatly in a round tin. He took a moment to breathe in her sweet scent, then bent down to her ear.

"They look good."

She startled and fell back against his chest.

"Oh, Adam . . ."

The effect of her chiding tone was weakened by the little upturned quirk of her lips as she turned around to him. "You must stop sneaking up on me like that."

"Maybe I like sneaking up on you," he muttered and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "When I see you from afar like that and you're in your own little world, the temptation is simply too great."

"Sir, you are terrible." Gentle creases formed just beneath her eyes. "And I must say, you look quite dapper today . . ."

He looked down at himself. "Thank you. I'm glad you approve."

"I do. I am also delighted and equally surprised to see a shirt of yours that doesn't appear to need mending."

While he loved to tease her, he probably enjoyed being teased _by_ her just as much. That glint of cheekiness in her eyes sent a thrill through him each time he saw it.

"Thanks for fixing those shirts. The result was a hundred times better than when Hop Sing does it and you weren't nearly as fussy as he always is about it. Actually, you didn't make a fuss at all."

"I was happy to do it, you know that."

She turned back to continue stacking the cookies and he stepped up beside her, putting his hat down on the work bench.

"Are they new?"

"Actually, yes they are."

He made an effort to keep his eyes on her hands, hard as it was not to let them slide up her flawless, naked arms and to . . . other places.

"They are Southern tea cakes." She handed him one of the biscuits. "It's really just an easy type of sugar cookie. I thought I would try them on Sally and see what she thinks."

Biting into the little cake, he was expecting the usual biscuit-crunch but instead encountered a soft and pillowy texture. It had a nice flavor, simple and comforting somehow.

"They're good." He chewed the rest of the treat "Definitely a winner for Hoss."

"I'll leave some out, you can take them home with you later," she said distractedly and looked behind her. Surveying the room with wood-cook stoves and men and women at work, her brow furrowed in thought. "I am sure there was something else I needed to do."

Adam cleared his throat. "I should probably tell you that I was sent in here to remove you from the property."

Her concentrated expression turned into one of amusement and she faced him, one eyebrow arching up.

"Oh, really?

"Yea, so why don't you just get your things Miss, and we'll be on our way."

He casually hooked a thumb in his belt, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"All right." She smiled. "I'll just be a minute." She put the lid on the tin, leaving a few cookies out for the other Cartwrights each. "I thought perhaps we could stop by the store on the way home? I need a few items for cooking supper."

"Sure, we can go to the store if you want. But you won't be cooking supper."

Confused, Madeline stopped what she was doing. "I don't understand . . ."

"Oh yes!" His fingers snapped crisply in the air. "I forgot to mention that, didn't I? We're going out for a meal at the International House and then to a Shakespeare play at Maguire's Opera House afterwards."

Madeline's whole face lit up with excitement and she even bounced on her feet a little. "Adam! Oh, do you really mean it?!"

"Yep," he said, smirking.

"That sounds wonderful!"

He was relishing every bit of her animated reaction when suddenly, her enthusiasm seemed to dwindle and her eyes grew big and worried. "Oh, but what about Uncle Paul . . . ?"

"Well, I suppose we could ask him if he wants to come along." Adam peeked over his shoulder at the rest of the kitchen, then moved closer to her face, his voice lowering. "But, you see . . . I was kinda hoping to have you all to myself the whole evening . . ."

She smiled faintly. "I know . . . but lately he has seemed rather quiet, and I just get the feeling that he is a little . . . well, sad. I haven't seen him much this week."

"It's all right, Madeline," Adam said reassuringly. Although he would have preferred to be alone with her, he knew that he'd been pushing it this week with all the time he'd spent with her and there was no need to test Paul's patience even more. "We'll ask him if he wants to join us. He always likes the Shakespeare plays."

"Thank you," she said, her appearance brightening again.

Adam waved a finger at her. "As long as he doesn't sit in between us like he did when we went on that church picnic last week. And like the other evening, when he decided to sit himself down right in the middle of the settee while we were playing checkers. I'm—" Adam halted, narrowing his eyes at her as his arm dropped back down to his side. "You still think that was really funny, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, it's just . . . the look on your face was—" She covered her mouth with a hand, but a muffled giggle escaped her and she dipped her head.

He tried to adopt a slightly offended attitude, but it probably didn't work so well. She was just too adorable. "I'm pleased that my face causes you such amusement."

"Adam, I'm sorry," she half said, half giggled and drew in a careful breath to compose herself, her eyes shimmering. "I was just laughing at the incident. There is nothing funny about your face."

"Hmm, and just how would you describe my face?"

Her gaze flickered out towards the rest of the kitchen, then back to him and she spoke in a hushed tone. "As I'm sure you know, Mr. Cartwright . . . you are a very handsome man . . ."

"Why, Miss Delaney . . ." He crossed his arms and did a head-tilt with a touch of cocky. "Are you trying to make me blush in public?"

She laughed, "I think perhaps you should go out and wait with Sally while I get my things. You are much too distracting in this mood."

"Okay, I'll go out to Sally," he said, picking up his hat. "But if you're not out there in two minutes, I'm coming back in here."

"I'll be quick. We don't want to be late for the play."

He watched her for another few seconds as she put the cookies for his family in a bag and the eagerness in her movements was so clear. Yes, this had definitely been a good idea. Feeling pretty pleased with himself, he headed back out of the kitchen to wait for her.

* * *

"Your move, doc."

"I am well aware, Roy."

Ben peered over the top of the _Territorial Enterprise_ and he and the sheriff shared a look of puzzlement, complete with raised eyebrows. Roy exhaled quietly and sat back in his creaking chair as the doctor opposite him stared at the chess board between them.

Lowering the newspaper to his lap, Ben rested one hand on Roy's desk. "Paul, is something the matter?"

In one swift motion, Paul moved his bishop and took out his opponent's knight.

"No, Ben. Everything is perfectly fine."

The sheriff's office became silent again, the only noise in the room coming from the three squeaking chairs. Roy adjusted his glasses and considered the board in concentration when Paul picked up his pocket watch from the desk and checked the time. He replaced the item with a little thud and leaned back, uncrossing his legs only to cross them again the other way. Ben glanced at him from behind the newspaper, then returned to the article about an Indian raid on a waystation near the Humboldt River route.

It was no more than two minutes later when Paul lifted his watch again, the movement catching the Cartwright's attention.

"Is there somewhere you would rather be than here, Paul?"

The little clock was snapped closed with a sharp sound.

"No, no place at all. Thanks to your oldest son who kindly offered to take Madeline out for a meal at the International House and to the theater afterwards, the rest of my day is completely free unless someone breaks a leg, goes into labor, gets shot or stabbed."

The doctor gave a tight smile which looked like it was actually hurting his face, then he turned back to the chess board. Roy moved one of his pawns and took off his glasses.

"Well, I reckon they'll have a right fine time those two. The other day when Adam came by, we went to have lunch at Sally's Restaurant and Madeline joined us in her break. I swear, for a full five minutes the boy forgot I was even there!"

"Yes, I can imagine. Believe me," Paul mumbled and stretched out a hand to make his next play.

"Is there something wrong with Adam escorting Madeline this evening?" Ben asked and studied the doctor who'd been in a strange mood ever since he came into the sheriff's office. "You don't seem too happy about it."

"Oh, I'm pleased as Punch. It's a Shakespearean comedy they're seeing. I'm sure they'll enjoy it and discuss it tonight over coffee back at home." Paul calmly went on despite the tension emanating from him. "And then of course, it's Friday tomorrow and Madeline will be visiting your ranch as she usually does and her and Adam can continue their stimulating conversation which seems to never . . . die . . . out."

Roy's hand hovered over his remaining bishop and he aimed a cautious look over at the agitated doctor.

"I think you should've gone along with 'em, doc. You usually go whenever it's Shakespeare, it might have been a good evening for you too."

"Thank you for that reflection Roy, but I try not to flaunt my fifth wheel status in public more than once a day, if possible."

"So that's what's bothering you!" Ben broke in and slapped the newspaper down onto the desk. "You feel like you're a fifth wheel?"

"Well how can I not?!" Paul's voice pitched up, something inside him finally breaking free. "Do you know that I've barely sat down and had more than a ten-minute talk alone with Madeline this week? Lately, whenever she isn't working at Sally's or attending some social club event, Adam has been monopolizing her time. He is like a little stray puppy dog—constantly there wherever she is. Check"—the doctor snatched another of Roy's pawns with a jolty hand movement—"Yes, whenever I turn around, he is there . . ."

"Now Paul," Ben started smoothly, "I understand how you feel, Adam certainly hasn't been spending much of his time at the ranch this week. But I think we all saw this coming, hmm?"

"I suppose so . . . but things are moving so fast!" Paul released a huff and tugged at his earlobe. "I only want what's best for her. I'm not sure she is ready for all this."

"Listen, if you think that Adam isn't good enough for—"

"Oh, don't get your feathers all ruffled, Ben," the doctor said, effectively cutting through his friend's defensive tone, "I am quite sure that before this day is over, I will have been given another verbal account of the numerous, wonderous qualities of Adam Cartwright. My niece's enthusiasm leaves little room for me to harbor any doubts about his honorable character, even if I did have any."

Roy made his next chess move while listening to his friends with interest.

"It's just that . . . I only just got her back."

The hard look on Ben's face melted away as the doctor all of a sudden turned completely crestfallen.

"You feel like she's slipping away from you . . ."

"Yes. I guess I do." Paul stared down at the wooden desk. "Over the last few months, I suppose I've gotten so used to having her around all the time. It simply never occurred to me before, how satisfying it could be having someone to come home to, someone to share supper with every evening. Oh, it's not that I mind Adam being around so often, not really." Paul's eyes went distant and his posture slumped. "It's the fact, that I know that he will eventually take her away from me."

Shifting uncomfortably, Roy watched the melancholy doctor opposite him with sympathy.

"I know what you mean, doc. When my Mary died, that was the hardest thing. Comin' home to an empty house, havin' no one to talk to about my day. At least havin' good friends eased the pain of it a little."

"I guess that I've been lucky there," Ben said, "with all that I've lost, I still have my boys. Finally, I have all three of them home. But a part of me secretly dreads the day when they leave the ranch and start their own families." He quickly shook that painful notion away and leaned closer to the frowning doctor.

"But Paul, if Adam and Madeline decide to start a life of their own together, he could never take her away from you—nor would he want to. He has far too much respect for you to do that. And Madeline loves you deeply, that's clear by the way she acts and talks about you."

Paul's sight stayed fixed to the desk.

"And another thing," Ben said, scratching his chin, "it's plain to see the remarkable effect their relationship has had on Adam, but I know that you've noticed the change in Madeline too. I remember when she first came here, she was so shy and insecure. The first time I met her, she seemed almost fearful of being out around town . . ." He paused when Paul's hesitant gaze met his own. The brief eye contact left the Cartwright's brows crunched together in that perceptive look that appeared whenever he was trying to work something perplexing out.

"Anyway . . ." he continued, "she has truly come a long way since then and I do believe that Adam has had a hand in that development."

"I reckon Ben is right about that one," Roy said, stepping carefully around the odd, unspoken exchange going on between his two friends. "She sure has come out of her shell, walks around like a little ray of sunshine when she's with him."

"I think that you should consider just which one of you it is who isn't _ready_ _for_ _all this,_ Paul _."_ Ben eyed the pondering doctor. "Her or yourself."

A long, silent moment went by, and the lines buried in Paul's forehead smoothed out little by little. Suddenly, he reached out and moved his bishop across the chess board.

"Check Mate."

When he faced the two other men, there was a hint of a reluctant smile in his features.

"I suppose you're right . . . both of you. There's no use in me fighting this thing. Also, it would be much too tiring. That son of yours is stubborn as a mule."

Ben chuckled in relief and clapped Paul on the arm.

"I can't argue with you there. Don't worry too much, I'm sure things will work out just fine."

"Well," Paul sighed and placed his pocket watch inside his vest. "At least there are some perks to this infatuation he seems to have with her. With my upcoming trip to San Francisco, I know that she'll be safe and well taken care of while I'm away."

"I'm glad you see it that way doc, that's mighty good of ya," Roy said as he began resetting the chess pieces for another game. "Here I was, thinking you'd feel quite the opposite about that. You know, leavin' her alone with him here for a whole week 'n all."

Ben was nearly overwhelmed by the urge to cover his face with a palm. He was just contemplating whether using his hand to wipe the sheriff's smirk away wouldn't be a better course of action when Paul turned to him with gritted teeth.

"Ben. Would you care to join me in a game of chess? I feel positively terrible about keeping Roy from his paperwork."

He cast a look onto the mound of papers bunched together at the side of the desk. With a placating nod, Roy settled his glasses back across his nose and grabbed the top paper off the pile. Ben's eyes made a brief trip heavenward before he turned the chess board so it stood between him and Paul.

"I hope at least one of you Cartwrights will provide me with a challenge. During his late evening visits, Adam always lets me win, probably to appease me." Paul let out a grunt of ridicule. "As if I don't know exactly what the lad is up to."

"Oh, I'll give you a challenge, Paul." Ben grinned. "Don't you worry."


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello everyone! S_ _o, firstly and most importantly, to those of you who continue to support me in your comments_ — _thank you so much. Your reassurance that you are enjoying the story and that you like Adam with Madeline means a lot to me._ _It really keeps me going and I love reading your wonderful reviews._

 _As you all know, I am new at this thing and it's unnerving to put one's writing out there. I realize that I can't please everyone. In the end, I can only do my best as I write this story and write it as it feels right to me._

 _I hope you enjoy this next chapter and that it isn't too "heavy" to get through. It's the one I have been most nervous about posting so far. My aim has always been to write with a certain realistic aspect in terms of the historical background but also in relation to the characters, their private struggles, their reactions, flaws and strengths. This story is a drama/romance and the drama truly sets in now._

 _Warning here—there is mention of past physical abuse in this chapter._

 _Okay, here we go. Thank you all._

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

The following day, Adam and Madeline were spending the afternoon at their place by Silver Creek. The creek, bathed in brilliant sunlight, looked like one long, fluid path of sparkles and in the places where the trees didn't offer shade, those powerful rays seemed to paint the world more vivid, showing off new, vibrant colors. The very air was infused with everything summer; the sweet fragrance of flowers breaking through the scent of luscious grass and sounds of birdsong accompanied by the steady buzz of bees drifted down along the creek-bank. It was exactly as an August summer's day should be.

The couple lay on a blanket in the grass under the big oak tree—Adam on his back with one arm bent under his head while Madeline's cheek rested on his other shoulder as he stroked her arm in a lulling motion. They were both lost in their own private thoughts and neither of them had spoken for a while.

Madeline was still reliving the wonderful time they'd had the evening before at the theater. It had been the first time they'd gone out to a public event of that nature together and the people in town had generally been very friendly towards them. There was still some gossiping going on among certain ladies, but Madeline wasn't really too bothered by it. She'd enjoyed herself far too much. When she was with Adam, it was like those other things just didn't matter as much to her anymore. The gossip, the whispering—none of it was as important as being with him and he made her feel safer and more contended than she ever had in all her life. She was also relieved that he seemed to be doing very well lately. They'd spent practically every day together this week and he looked more rested, his mood stayed cheerful and his smiles came just a little bit quicker and easier. She loved being close with him like they were now—just the two of them lying under their tree—and she realized then, that the most important thing in her life was now him. When she wasn't physically with him, she was constantly thinking about him, and when they were together, this odd, new feeling seemed to stretch throughout her entire body. It was overwhelming, yet it made her feel whole. It had no boundaries and it couldn't be defined—the feeling was simply absolute. And she could no longer imagine being without him in her life.

As he lay there on the blanket, Adam had only one thing on his mind and that was how he felt about the woman lying against him. With all the time they had been spending together lately, it was getting harder and harder to leave her when their visits were over. If he had the choice, he would keep her with him at all times. Since he'd told her about his nightmares, he'd been sleeping better and every day was a good day at the moment. She was the one for him, there was no question about it. While he was far from healed inside, she had already made him feel more complete than he'd thought he could ever be again after the war ended. There were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wanted her to know how he felt. But every time he tried to approach that particular conversation with her, he somehow never got very far with it. And he couldn't shake the feeling that things just weren't as simple as I love you's and a happy life together with Madeline. He was pretty sure that what he saw in her eyes was love for him. But she was holding back, and he couldn't keep pretending that she wasn't. So far, he'd been too much of a coward to confront her about it because of the fear that he would disrupt what they had now. And that he would lose her. Like he tended to lose people he cared about.

He was contemplating all of that and studying the maze of leaves and branches above them when he felt her sigh out a breath that tickled his chest at the top of his shirt.

"I wish we could stay like this forever."

His hand stilled on her arm, and he knew that this was the best opening he would ever get. If only he could work up the courage . . .

"We could, you know . . ." He let the words draw out. "Well, maybe not literally, but we could stay _together_ forever."

Her relaxed demeanor immediately changed, and he wished he could've seen her face then. She shifted and slowly sat up.

". . . Do you want that?"

"Madeline, you must know that I want that." He quickly rose to sit beside her. "More than anything."

He watched her intently, growing more disheartened by the second at her delayed reply.

"Adam . . . I'm afraid I need to—"

"Wait, just hear me out," he said, hating that his tone was imploring because it wasn't like him, but he needed to stall the rejection he sensed was coming. "You're the most amazing, most remarkable woman I've ever known. I can't even begin to explain how much you mean to me. How happy you make me."

"Please, Adam," she said, shaking her head, "there's something I have to—"

"I love you, Madeline."

Her eyes shot to his. " . . . You do?"

"Yes. I really do. And I'll do whatever it takes to show you how much."

He moved towards her and she was so stunned by his unexpected declaration that she continued to stare at him when he first pressed his mouth against her unmoving lips. After a couple of seconds, her focus drifted from the conversation to the kiss and she closed her eyes and unconsciously leaned into him, seeking more of his warmth and closeness. When his tongue gently pried her lips apart, it was like a sudden urgency overcame him and he pushed her backwards, his hands settling on her back. She clung to his shoulders while he carefully lowered her onto the blanket, his touch and dizzying taste making the world spin around her. Those hidden emotions were rapidly awakening within her and she clutched his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping her from being swept away in it all. As he continued probing her mouth with his tongue, she started to become more aware of the thrilling way her body was responding to him and a tiny sound that she didn't recognize, escaped her throat when his fingers brushed through her hair. The little noise clearly spurred him on and he lifted her slightly with the hand still under her back, bringing her just a bit nearer to him as he deepened the heated kiss.

But then something changed.

Maybe it was the new kissing position with him hovering over her like that or it could have been the intensifying passion she sensed in the way his lips moved harder against hers. But suddenly she went from feeling feverish and tingly to increasingly uncomfortable. Her breathing quickened as her chest clenched hard and she felt trapped—as though she was being slowly squashed under an immeasurable weight. Distressing memories began flashing through her mind and she was abruptly taken back with them. All of a sudden, it wasn't Adam above her, but someone else, and the image of _his_ sneering face looming over her, made every muscle in her body stiffen as she waited for the inevitable pain to strike her flesh.

Adam was so caught up in his own burning desire for her that he was less attentive than usual of her reaction and he didn't notice her discomfort. All he could think of was how much he loved this woman, how he wanted and _needed_ her—more than words could say. He'd been waiting for such a long time to tell her about his feelings and there was just no containing them anymore. The first push against his front didn't register with him at all, but the second one, enforced by a rush of her escalating panic, shoved him a good few inches back.

"Please stop!" she gasped. "Please . . ."

He instantly relinquished his hold on her and she sat up, turning away from him, her hand covering her mouth as she fought with the sickening images that had seized her awareness. Adam just sat there beside her, out of breath and utterly dumbfounded by the sudden situation. A look of complete shock swept across his face as he took in her shaking shoulders and bowed head, realizing that he was responsible for it all.

"Madeline, I'm . . . I'm sorry, I . . ."

His stammering led to nowhere and he didn't dare reach out to her. He could only watch her forlornly and he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat as an all-consuming sense of shame washed over him.

 _What had he done? How could he have let this happen?_

He'd sworn to himself that he would be careful with her, he'd _known_ somehow that she needed that from him. And now he'd pushed her too far. Thoughts were whirling around his pounding head as her back rose and fell in jerky movements. It had seemed like she was enjoying the kiss. He'd felt her respond to him in the most exquisite ways and yet . . . now he was faced with the reality of what his actions had caused. Seeing her distraught state made him feel a whole new kind of low.

Gradually, she appeared to calm down and she drew in, then blew out a deep breath. He knew that he needed to apologize properly to her, but he simply had no idea where to start—too afraid that he'd somehow make things even worse. So ashamed over his behavior, he stayed silent, his chest hammering as he willed her to say something—anything that would break this suffocating silence.

"Adam . . . please take me back to the ranch."

Her voice was shaky but resolute and every word stabbed at his heart. He only barely managed to restrain the desperate plea that wanted out when he opened his mouth. Now wasn't the time and he couldn't risk upsetting her further with his recklessness despite the crushing fear that was starting to consume him from the inside.

"I'll go and get the horses ready," he said quietly instead. As he got up and walked over to Sport and the grey mare, his legs felt numb. At that moment, he would have rather been trapped in one hundred of his nightmares because the pain of knowing that he'd hurt her so was beyond heartbreaking.

 _How could he have gotten things so wrong?_

Sport let out a loud snort and bumped his shoulder, sensing his master's dejection but Adam didn't notice it. Risking a glance back, he saw that Madeline had stood up, the straw bonnet back atop her head as she folded the blanket. He headed over to her, pulling the horses along behind him and it was apparent that she was doing all she could to avoid looking at him. There was no doubt that the ride home would be a miserable one.

xXXx

Back at the house, Ben and Paul were sitting on the porch and enjoying some of Hop Sing's cool lemonade. Paul had gone with Madeline out to the Ponderosa to check on old Harry's leg and to spend a few hours of relaxation at the ranch. This time, the doctor had been satisfied with how the foreman's leg was healing, and Harry had in turn been rewarded with the prospect of being on his feet for half an hour each day starting tomorrow.

Ben had gone over some accounts on the porch while Paul saw to his patient and afterwards, the two friends had settled back in the comfortable chairs under the shade of the porch roof. They'd been chatting in casual companionship for about an hour and Paul was telling Ben about the medical conference he was to attend in San Francisco in just a few days.

"Well Paul, I'm sure you'll get a lot out of this trip. It certainly sounds interesting and with all the doctors and physicians planning to partake in this thing, it'll hopefully be a success."

Paul hummed in agreement and set down his glass.

"I really believe that this is the most effective way of expanding our medical knowledge—by meeting up with colleagues in the same field and discussing new medical research and methods in person. With the limited number of doctors out here on the frontier, and with even fewer of us formally educated, it's vital that we keep up with the progress and the new discoveries that are being made in our line of work. The West needs more doctors, Ben, more medicine and more knowledge or we'll just fall behind."

"Yes, I agree. It's the hope of us all that more trained doctors will come to settle here," Ben said and thoughtfully thumbed the edge of his glass, "but the country out here is rough, our state is young and the ongoing disputes with the Indians certainly aren't helping to make this an attractive place to live."

"You're right about that. But I hear rumors that the army is sending troops out here again to man the forts, as they did before the war."

Paul noted the three deep furrows that appeared on his friend's forehead, but before he could ask what was wrong, the sound of horses approaching drew his attention to the yard.

"They're back rather early, aren't they?" the doctor mumbled and pushed himself forward in his chair.

Within a few seconds of watching the couple, it became obvious to both men that something was wrong. Adam dismounted by the hitching rail and went to help Madeline down from the grey mare, but as soon as she touched the ground, he let go of her and she faced away from him. She walked over to the surrey parked close to the barn while removing her riding gloves, keeping her head down. Adam just stood rooted to the spot beside his horse, watching her anxiously.

Paul's eyebrows bounced up and when he glanced sideways at Ben, he saw his own confusion mirrored in his friend's expression. The couple had seemed so happy when they'd ridden out an hour ago. Madeline's face was obscured by the straw bonnet and it was impossible for Paul to gauge her mood from that distance, so he got up from his chair at the same time as Ben and they stepped down off the porch. As the doctor headed for the surrey, he threw a look over at Adam who was fidgeting with Sport's reins. Paul's eyes quickly went from questioning to calculating and his lips drew inward in disapproval when the younger man kept his gaze stuck to the ground. Just as Paul got to his niece, she peered up at him with pools of liquid deep green.

"Uncle Paul, could we please . . . I must go home."

Without hesitation, he laid a comforting hand on her arm.

"I'll just go and get my bag. Stay here."

Spinning around on his heels, he walked back towards the house, making a slight detour over to the two Cartwrights standing by the horses. Ben was scrutinizing his oldest son as if he'd asked a question and was waiting for an answer that clearly wasn't forthcoming.

"Well, it looks like we are leaving," Paul said and pierced Adam with a glare. Although the younger man's eyes were still down-turned, there was no doubt that he received the doctor's message of discontent loud and clear. Paul ignored the way Adam's shoulders slumped and addressed Ben.

"I'll go and get my bag. We'll have to continue where we left off some other time, Ben."

"Of course, I'll go with you, Paul."

Ben eyed Adam pointedly one last time, unmistakably urging him to take this last chance to do something to resolve the unhappy situation. The two older men walked back to the house, muttering between themselves in mutual perplexity. A couple of minutes later, they exited the front door again and saw that Adam was now standing by the surrey, talking to Madeline's back. He was clearly keeping a certain distance to her, but she didn't seem to even be listening to him. Actually, she seemed to be in a world of her own. Ben sighed heavily, and the worst of Paul's anger abated at the sorry appearance of the dark Cartwright.

When the two men crossed the yard, Madeline climbed into the surrey without help and sat there looking down at her hands. Paul placed his bag under the seat and jumped up next to his niece. It was an excruciatingly awkward moment as Paul coughed, Ben shuffled his feet, Adam stared beseechingly at Madeline and she stayed still, looking as if she'd drawn completely into herself.

Ben eventually spoke up, keeping his tone as normal as possible.

"Well, have a safe ride back. I'll see you in town sometime before you leave, Paul."

"Thank you, Ben. Say hello to Hoss and Joe from us."

The doctor flicked the reins, setting the horses in motion and the surrey pulled out of the yard.

The two Cartwrights were left standing there as the dust slowly drifted back down to the ground. Ben placed a hand on his boy's back.

"What on earth happened, son?"

Adam shook his head hopelessly.

"I messed it all up, Pa. I messed everything up."

xXXx

The surrey had rambled down the trail for a full five minutes when Paul pulled on the reins and made the horses stop. He laid the reins down by his feet and moved to sit sideways on the seat, so he could see his niece properly. She was gazing out into the distance with vacant eyes and he began to get truly worried about her.

"Little Belle, are you all right?"

Madeline showed no indication whatsoever that she'd heard him, and Paul moved a little closer.

"Did you and Adam have a quarrel?"

"Uncle Paul—" Her voice faltered as a lone tear escaped the brim of her eye and trickled down her cheek. "Please, I can't . . . "

The doctor's hand twitched and he brought it up to rub across his mouth.

"Look Madeline, you have to tell me what's going on. I have a good mind to turn this surrey around and go back and give that young man the talking to that I'm now beginning to think he very much deserves."

"No, uncle, please don't." Her eyelids fluttered rapidly but a few more tears still fell. "It wasn't Adam's fault. I am so ashamed . . ."

Her chin dropped down and Paul shook himself of his paralyzing bewilderment, grasping one of her hands.

"What in the world are you ashamed of? Won't you please tell me what has happened?"

She reached up to wipe her eyes and he quickly took out his handkerchief from his vest pocket and gave it to her. He waited patiently while she dried her face. With a last sniffle, she lowered the cloth to her lap and peeked over at him.

"We went to Silver Creek as we usually do, and we were . . . he . . . kissed me."

Her statement made some of the tension drain out of the doctor, but it also brought about a struggle between his compressed brows and the slow smile that wanted to stretch his lips.

"My Belle, as much as I would like it to be so, I am not naive enough to think that he hasn't kissed you before today."

"No, you're right uncle," she said, her tone wobbly. "But today wasn't like the other times. He said that he loved me."

Paul's jaw lifted, his mouth forming a silent "Oh".

"I was trying to tell him about . . . _everything_. But then he said that he loved me and . . . he kissed me."

She bit down on her protruding lower lip, containing what was so close to spilling out anew.

"I-I don't know what happened but as he was kissing me, thoughts about my . . . about _the past_ started to come into my mind. Suddenly, all I could think of was—" She stopped speaking as Paul covered her hands with his and squeezed them in understanding. "It seemed so real," she continued in a whisper. "It wasn't Adam there with me but I was back in Georgia with _him_."

Paul had to grind his teeth together to keep his temper in check. He would never have thought that he could hold such pure hatred for someone he hadn't even met, but that was exactly what he felt for the man who'd mistreated his niece.

"I was so sure that he would . . . hurt me and I panicked and I . . . I pushed him away," she said, her hands becoming limp. "I pushed Adam away. But it was like I didn't even know which one of them it was at the time."

She fell quiet and Paul knew by her frown that she was trying to make sense of her own words now that they'd been let out. Then her eyebrows drooped and when she looked at him, he was reminded of that little, lost girl he'd left behind in Georgia all those years ago.

"Then afterwards, I felt so ashamed of myself. Adam had told me that he loved me and I have been deceiving him all this time. Uncle Paul, I should have told him the truth before, just like you said."

Her despair ripped straight into the doctor and he leaned forward, wrapping her up in an embrace.

"I'm sorry, dear. Please don't be so harsh on yourself, there is no use in it now. You weren't ready."

They stayed like that for a long minute, but she didn't cry anymore—just leaned against him like she had no intention of ever moving. After a while, he placed his hands on her shoulders and it was with some reluctance that she allowed herself to be pulled back.

"Now, will you listen to me for a moment? This little situation may just be resolved yet."

Seemingly too tired to even reply at that point, she only gave a subdued nod.

"All right now, do you love Adam?"

Still feeling overwhelmed and emotional, she was unprepared for that question.

"I . . ."

"Okay, how about this then, when you were with him—just b _efore_ you started to remember those dreadful things—did you feel happy with him?"

Her lashes lowered and the slow blush that came over her cheeks told him more than words ever could.

"Ah." The doctor blinked. "Say no more . . ."

A few seconds passed which he spent pretending to scan the open range before them.

"Well, ah . . . uh . . . well, do you want to be with the lad or not?" he asked a little brusquely.

"Yes . . . I do," she said softly.

"Very well. Then you must go and tell him that. Along with everything else."

As he stretched down to pick up the reins with an old man's grunt, she abruptly gripped his arm.

"Now?!" she squeaked, "what won't he think of me? He must be so upset with me, I behaved terribly."

"Trust me Madeline, I doubt that anything you say or do now will make him feel worse than he does at this instant."

Her appearance turned even more troubled and Paul expelled a gush of air as he patted her knee.

"Look, why do you think I stopped the surrey to have this talk with you here, five minutes from the ranch instead of going straight home? Because in a few hours, you would have been so broken up about this thing, you would've been gazing out the window thinking about him and we would eventually have made a late evening trip out to the Ponderosa because you'd realized that you just had to talk with him. Now, this surrey seat isn't the most comfortable thing for these bouncy roads, so spare us both the hardship of those extra hours of travel, won't you?"

He bent down to see her face hidden by the bonnet and it seemed like she was wavering between releasing more tears or a careful smile. To his relief, the smile won out and she twisted towards him, moving in for another hug as her chin came to rest on his shoulder.

"Oh, Uncle, how do you put up with me?"

"I am a patient man, Madeline. A patient and a practical one." He clapped her back once. "Let's go."

The mildly confused horses followed the doctor's orders, doing a half circle on the road and soon the surrey was well on its way back to the ranch.

xXXx

Adam had just come down the stairs to the sitting room with his saddlebags hooked over his shoulder when he heard a sound from outside. Hardly daring to believe it, he unwittingly dropped the bags onto the settee and walked over to look out of the open front door. His pulse spiked at the sight of the surrey coming into the yard and he quickly went outside. Moving past his father who'd stood up from the chair on the porch, Adam loped across the yard, his pace slowing considerably when it struck him that the only logical reason for their return was that Paul had come back to give a piece of his most-likely furious mind. When he got to the carriage, Adam steeled himself for whatever the doctor had in store for him, but to his surprise it was Madeline who spoke.

"Adam . . . could I talk to you?"

His mouth opened and closed, then opened again. "Yes, of course."

By pure reflex, he reached out to help her down from the surrey, quickly realizing that she probably wouldn't want his assistance. But just as he was about to draw back, she surprised him again by taking his proffered hand. Once down on the ground, her eyes darted up to him, then sideways to his father who'd joined them.

"Uh, we can go around the back, if you like?"

He hated feeling so insecure with her and what was worse—he hated the fact that he didn't even know if she would want to be alone with him. Or if Paul would allow it for that matter.

"Yes, all right," she said.

Stepping to the side, he let her go first and followed her, aiming a hesitant look over his shoulder, back at the doctor. Seeing calm reassurance rather than condemnation on Paul's face left Adam more bewildered than comforted and he continued to keep a few inches distance to Madeline as they headed towards the house.

"Well, Paul . . ." Ben rested an arm on the surrey while watching the couple disappear. "I don't know how you did it, but you were just in the nick of time. He was about to head out, you know."

"Yes, I suspected as much. Good thing she came to her senses when she did and decided to talk things out."

Ben looked up and took in the doctor's completely impassive expression. Tiny crinkles appeared by the Cartwright's dark eyes.

"Hmm. If only my boy knew just how much of a friend he has in you . . ."

"Now Ben, let's not lay more into this." Paul waved a hand in dismissal. "She would've been a nightmare for me to live with until he came back and they could settle this thing. I was simply being practical," he asserted.

"Mmmh," Ben grunted, smiling.

"Enough of that," Paul grumbled as he climbed down from the surrey. "My work here is not yet done. Do you have something stronger perhaps than Hop Sing's lemonade? I could sure use it, and you will need it too with what I am about to tell you, old friend."

xXXx

Adam had his hands folded behind his back as he walked alongside Madeline through the back garden. They passed the bed of red roses and he chanced a glance at her as she undid the pink ribbon under her chin, removing the straw bonnet. She was so pale.

"Would you like to sit?"

He gestured to the wooden bench just a few feet ahead of them. She nodded and went over to sit down while he trailed behind her but remained standing. The back garden was the most secluded part of the Ponderosa ranch—so quiet and removed from the sounds of horses, cattle and cowhands at work. Adam's attention fell on the pine tree next to the bench, and he noticed the old carving of Joe's name in the bark. They'd carved it together on Joe's fifth birthday. He'd forgotten it was there.

When Adam finally got himself to face Madeline again, she was holding the bonnet in her lap, brown curls dangling down past her cheeks. She seemed nervous rather than upset with him, and he was stupefied by it.

"I'm glad you came back . . ." he ventured.

"Adam, there is something I have to tell you."

The serious look she gave him made him slowly sink down onto the wooden bench beside her.

"All right . . ."

"It's something about me. Something I should have told you long before now, but . . . I just couldn't. And I am deeply sorry for it."

His confusion was quelled by a sense of misgiving forming in his chest as he waited for her to continue.

"I haven't shared much about my life in Georgia. Except for my childhood and general events during the war," she said cautiously. "But nothing about why I left to come here."

"I got the impression that you didn't want to talk about it."

"I didn't, but now I must."

This was it. He'd known from that first time she came to the Ponderosa when Maisy McCoy questioned her about her past that she was hiding something. And he'd noticed it ever since, whenever she would divert a conversation or avoid certain topics. It had been such a long wait for this moment, and now he suddenly felt completely unprepared.

She breathed in, her shoulders lifting high.

"When I was living in Georgia . . . I was married."

Adam's gaze plummeted to the grassy ground as a jolt ran through him. Not because he was very surprised by her revelation, but because he hadn't expected it to cause him so much pain. The knowledge that he would never be her first or only love stung deep in his heart.

"You knew?" she asked, the disbelief evident in her tone.

"The thought crossed my mind." He plastered on a weak smile for her before raising his head. "It somehow didn't seem likely that a woman like you would still be . . . well, I mean, I imagine you must have had plenty of suitors."

"There were a few, I suppose." She paused and fingered the lavender fabric of her skirt. "But in the end, my marriage was an arrangement between my parents and husband, not an alliance of love."

His attempted smile died away, and he sat up straighter, watching her carefully. She suddenly stood up, laying her bonnet down on the bench and stepping past him, over to the pine tree close by.

"Ray Bradshaw was part owner of an iron works in Augusta, a wealthy and very successful man. My parents, my father especially, thought him the perfect match for me. He was older, 'mature' as Father pointed out and respected among the community. So, after a few months of him courting me, I agreed to marry him." She turned back around to face Adam, her delicate features lined with unmitigated anguish. "It was a terrible mistake . . ."

Adam wasn't even aware that he abruptly stood up himself. Within a split second, that sense of misgiving had dropped from his chest down to his stomach and become fluttering alarm, weaving in and out around sudden knots.

"While he was courting me," she went on, "he was always courteous and agreeable, but as soon as we were married, he changed." Her countenance became haunted by her inner anxiety. "As it turned out, he was neither a kind nor a good man, but one with a violent temper . . . and horrible fits of rage."

Staring at her, Adam felt his pulse throbbing in his temples.

"He . . . hurt you?"

"Yes . . ." she whispered past quivering lips. "I was twenty-five and from that very first night, he beat me. And after that, whenever the urge overtook him."

"Madeline, was he—" Adam swallowed thickly, "did he . . ."

Her fingers dug into her skirt, wringing the fabric around.

"I knew what he expected of me at night, but I was so afraid of him. My fear and . . . unwillingness only seemed to"—her eyes closed—" _excite_ him."

She spun away, ringlets of hair flinging around her neck and it was completely beyond Adam's power to speak, even if he'd known what to say. All of a sudden, the garden had gone from being secluded to stifling and it seemed utterly absurd that he was standing in such tranquil surroundings with this growing turmoil inside him. Her voice eventually broke through the chaos within him.

"When the war began, the business Ray shared started to produce military supplies such as weapons and ammunition. He had some military background and spent time recruiting and preparing young men before they were sent to the Confederate army. After Gettysburg, when the war turned in favor of the North, he began to drink heavily. His violent behavior became worse than ever before."

"What about divorce?" Adam got out and took a step towards her, his mind reeling with all this information. She looked at him, her face pinched in deep regret.

"You know that divorce laws in the South are much more stringent than other parts of the country, especially compared to the West. There had been a few instances of women who tried to obtain divorce where we lived, but the judge refused to grant it in every case." A shadow of sorrow swept across her. "My parents both died within two months after my wedding, and Ray didn't allow for me to have any close friends, so I had no one to support me. Besides, I doubt that my parents would have because of the scandal. It would've been going against everything I had been brought up to be."

Adam's concern for her increased when the little color that was left along her cheek bones vanished, leaving her whiter than he would have thought possible.

"After a particularly bad episode, I did secretly arrange a meeting with a lawyer to receive some legal advice on the matter. But as I already knew, it would be practically impossible for me to obtain a divorce on the grounds of domestic violence. I was told that it is a husband's right to correct and even beat his wife." She gazed past Adam, to some spot over his shoulder and her voice came out as nothing more than a breath. "When I arrived home, Ray was waiting for me. I don't know how he knew where I had been, but he was drunk and . . . furious."

Her eyelids closed tightly as if she were in desperate prayer and Adam fought to control the tension in his body, almost at the point of shaking.

"He locked me in the bedroom that whole night, beating me, hurting me. When he finally stopped, I looked up and . . . he was s-standing over me and he . . ."

Her twitching lips still moved but no more words came out and Adam couldn't help it, he grasped both her arms, balancing that fine line between firm and forceful.

"What Madeline? What did he do?!"

His grip had an anchoring effect on her and as her lashes lifted, her eyes settled on his.

"He held a knife to my face and smiled. And he said that my life belonged to him forever."

The strength seeped out of Adam's hands and they fell from her arms. This time, it was him who turned away as everything swam around him. He couldn't believe that these things had happened to her. That this . . . _animal_ had done this to her. Biting the inside of his cheek in a supreme effort to regain some composure, he hardly noticed the metallic-tasting wetness when it hit his tongue.

"A couple of weeks after that, I was approached by a man who worked for the Pinkerton Detective Agency," Madeline said quietly from behind him. "He explained that my uncle was looking for me and gave me a forwarding address, so that I could contact him. We wrote a few letters back and forth and once I knew that I had a place here with Uncle Paul, I planned to disappear from my life in Augusta. I managed to obtain the money for the trip without Ray knowing and I left almost all my possessions behind. I travelled to Utah to meet Uncle Paul and he then brought me here."

Adam didn't move an inch as he stood with his back to her. He didn't want to make things worse for her and he was familiar enough with his own temper to know that he needed to delay speaking for as long as he could.

" . . . Adam?"

"Why—" he cut himself off and forced gentleness into his voice. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I was afraid," she replied, so faint he could barely hear her. "At first, I was afraid of _anyone_ finding out and of him finding me. And then when I got to know you, I was worried about how you might react. Whether you'd . . . what you would think of me . . ."

Those last words made him wheel around to her with narrowed lips, the frail control he'd managed to gather quickly slipping.

"Madeline, he beat you, he"—Adam's chest heaved as his fists clenched—"he _violated_ you! Did you think that I would somehow think less of you or even blame _you_ for any of it?!"

"I don't know what I thought, it was a mistake!" she exclaimed, tiny muscles in her chin trembling. He ran a hand roughly through his hair and paced around her, over to the pine tree. Seeing that look on her face was just too much.

"Adam, please . . ."

She appeared just below his sight where it was fixed on the carving in the bark. "I am so sorry that I kept it from you. I should have listened to Uncle Paul and told you long before." Her voice cracked, and he felt a careful touch on his arm. "Please, don't be angry with me . . . I'm sorry about what happened earlier too, I never meant to hurt you. I can't bear it if . . . if you . . ."

His eyes flickered down to her and the haze of fury that was clouding his senses lifted. Tears clung to her lashes like tiny jewels and above them were horizontal creases of pure anguish.

"I am so sorry," she choked out.

He instinctively put his arms around her and she fell against him in the same instant, burying her face in his shirt.

"It's all right, I'm not angry with you," he murmured against her hair, rubbing her trembling back. "Easy honey, I'm just . . . it's not _your_ fault."

Holding her tightly, he knew that for now he had to bury the blazing rage that this unknown man had ignited in him. She needed his reassurance and he couldn't let her think that _she_ had done anything wrong. As he thought back on what had happened at Silver Creek, he had a new understanding of it all—of her unexpected reaction and why she'd pushed him away. With everything she'd just told him, he couldn't blame her. If only he'd known, he would have been more careful, more attentive of her needs.

Her shaking eventually stopped, and she became quiet. She gingerly drew back from him, leaving a wet patch on his shirt-front and he lifted one hand from her waist to wipe a stray, pearl-shaped tear from her cheek.

"I understand, Madeline. I'm not angry. Just relieved that you told me now."

She scanned his face and he eyed her calmly, his hands resting on her hips. Finally, she seemed to relax a little, but her cheeks were still red and wet.

"Is Paul the only one who knows?" he asked quietly.

"Yes . . . and your father by now probably. Uncle Paul was going to tell him while I talked with you."

Adam nodded and got ready to ask her the most pressing question on his mind.

"Madeline, I need to know . . . are you _sure_ that you covered your tracks? That he can't find you?"

"I am as sure as I can be," she said hesitantly. "After my father and Uncle Paul cut their contact, Father never spoke of him again and I was told not to discuss him. My parents pretended he didn't exist and when I met Ray there was never a reason to mention that I had an uncle." She paused and blinked a couple of times as if her eyelids were suddenly too heavy. "I burned all uncle Paul's letters as soon as I'd read them to keep Ray from finding out and I told no one about my leaving. I got the name Delaney from a woman I travelled with on the train."

When she swayed slightly in his arms, Adam tightened his hold around her waist. She looked completely exhausted now but he sensed that she had more to tell and he needed to get all the information out of her that he could.

"The other thing is . . . Georgia was in chaos when I left. Ray's factory had been destroyed by union soldiers and he was mad with anger towards them. He continued to encourage others to do all they could to disrupt the soldiers' work and unfortunately some men listened to him. Part of me believes that he may have done something . . . extreme." She sighed. "He might be imprisoned . . . or even dead."

Although he wouldn't say it out loud to her, Adam fiercely hoped that the latter was the case. He pushed down the animosity rising again before it got the better of him and brought a hand to her chin, tipping her face up to him.

"I just want you to be careful. I need you to be safe."

For the first time in what seemed close to forever, her lips curled at the ends and some of that natural light came back to her puffy eyes.

"I am, Adam. I will be fine."

He moved his hand up, stroking his thumb across her still damp cheek and his throat was drying up all over again.

"Madeline, about earlier, about what I said. I want you to know that nothing has changed. I meant every word." He halted and her pupils dilated. "I want to be with you. I want to share my life with you more than I've ever wanted anything in the world."

"Adam.."

"I realize that you might not be ready for that, and now I understand why—"

"I love you too . . ."

"—but I'll wait for you, as long as it takes, whatever it takes—" His rambling came to an abrupt stop. "Uh, what, you said what?"

"I love you too."

It took him a second to comprehend the words but when he did, it was impossible to prevent the corners of his mouth from lifting high up onto his cheeks. He must have produced a ridiculous grin because she released a tiny giggle, followed by a sniffle. Gently leaning his brow against hers, his hand automatically resumed caressing the side of her face.

"You do?"

"Yes." Her sincere gaze met his. "I really do."

That was all he needed for now. Knowing that she felt the same and being able to spend time with her as he had done up until now would be enough until she was ready for more. The glow gradually left his eyes as his thoughts inevitably turned back to everything she had been through, and he pulled away from her, suddenly uncertain about how close she really wanted him—especially after everything that had happened earlier.

"Adam," she said, her voice careful. "You may kiss me."

A weaker version of his usual half smile appeared and needing no more encouragement, he bent to touch his mouth to hers in a short but tender kiss.

"We should go inside," he murmured as he drew back, tucking a curl behind her ear, "you need to sit down and we can talk to Paul and my father."

She made a little, tired sound of agreement and he let go of her waist and stepped over to retrieve her bonnet from the bench. Then, after passing her the hat, he took her hand, pulling her to lean against him as they walked back through the grass towards the house.

xXXx

When they came into the dining room through the kitchen, Paul's and Ben's quiet conversation ceased. The two older men both stood from their chairs in the sitting room as the couple came closer and stopped by the settee. Madeline's eyes flickered between the two, as if unable to decide which of them to settle on. In the end, they landed on Ben and she pushed back her shoulders.

"You know all my secrets now, Mr. Cartwright. It was never my intention to be dishonest, and I apologize."

"Now Madeline," Ben set down his glass of brandy, stepping over to her to take her free hand. "Firstly, I thought we established that you call me Ben. Secondly, you had every right to keep those secrets. What has been said here today will never leave this room. I can inform Hoss and Joe about it, only _If_ and _when_ you want it," he emphasized the two words.

"I would like you to tell them, Ben. You have been so kind to me. I know that I can trust you all."

"All right." He patted her hand and released it. "How about some tea now? I'm sure you could use it and I'll bet I can rustle up something even without Hop Sing here." He glanced over at Adam. "You might want something a little stronger. Paul and I felt it was appropriate to get out the brandy."

That did sound like just what Adam needed, and he was about to guide Madeline over to the settee when she spoke to his father.

"I'll help you with the tea in the kitchen, Ben. Perhaps I could wash my face and clean up a bit too?"

"Of course, come with me, dear."

She looked up at Adam, and seeing the way he was regarding her, she smiled. "I'm fine. We won't be long."

Then the link of their joined hands was broken when she headed to the kitchen, Ben's steadying arm around her shoulder.

The great room went quiet and Paul settled back down in the red chair as Adam walked over to the table. Neither of the two men said anything—there was only the clinking sound of the brandy bottle bumping against the glass as Adam poured himself a drink. He sat down on the table and took a deep slug of the amber liquid.

"You know," Paul began, his fingers steepled by the string tie around his collar as he studied the younger man's profile. "Barely half an hour ago, I was thinking about how it can be possible that I hate a person whom I haven't even met so much."

Adam's brows pulled together as he listened, his elbows leaning on his knees as he held the drink in his hand.

"Trouble is, that kind of hatred might just consume a man . . ."

The doctor's words seemed to hang in the room and Adam gulped down another long drink, draining the glass.

"Paul . . . you still got that forwarding address in Georgia you used to contact Madeline?"

"I do. I take it you would like to have it."

"Yes, I would."

"All right. I'll make sure you get it. And I'll be discreet about it."

Although Adam wasn't facing the doctor, he could clearly feel those intense grey-blue eyes boring into him.

"Just be careful, Adam. That you don't let this thing get between you and her now."

* * *

That night, all four Cartwrights sat in the great room, nursing each of their own brandies.

"I just don't get it. I can't understand how a fella can do them things . . . and to a little sweet gal like that."

Hoss' face scrunched up in a grimace and he fell back on the settee next to Joe.

"I don't either Hoss," Ben said solemnly from the red chair. "Unfortunately, there are far too many men who consider their wives nothing more than their property. Who treat women in such disrespectful, cruel ways because sad as it is, the law permits it in a lot of places."

"I remember when I was a kid, there was this woman." Joe nibbled on the tip of his finger as he tried to remember. "Beth Peterson . . . she and her husband lived here for such a short time, but whenever I saw her, she looked sad, had bruises on her face. I've sometimes wondered what happened to her."

"Yes, I do remember her," Ben said as a picture of the woman formed in his mind. "We'll likely never know what became of her."

His sight drifted away from his two younger sons, over to his firstborn who was reclining in the blue chair. Adam had one foot resting on his other thigh—the one-hour-old drink of brandy still held in his lap. He was staring sightlessly out into the room, a clutched fist held against his closed mouth.

Joe and Hoss saw where their father was looking and faced each other.

"Well, I don't know about you fellas, but I'm gonna get myself to bed." Hoss stretched his arms out in front of himself. "I'm plumb tired out from all this heavy talkin' business."

"Yea, me too." Joe quickly downed the rest of his brandy.

They both rose from the settee and a small smile graced Ben's features. Hoss looked to his father, his forehead puckered and his big hands hanging awkwardly at his sides.

"I sure wish there was somethin' we could do for Miss Madeline."

"I think the best thing we can do, is to treat her as we normally would. Avoid acting differently around her just because we know these things now." Ben's eyes moved to Joe too. "I think she'd appreciate that from us."

The two brothers gave muted nods.

"Well, we'll see you in the mornin'." Hoss put a hand on his younger brother's back as the two walked past Adam towards the staircase. "Goodnight Pa . . . Adam."

The sudden movement in the room yanked Adam out of his pondering and he mumbled a low "Goodnight" in return to his departing siblings. When Hoss and Joe had disappeared up the stairs, Ben concentrated on his oldest boy. Only just discovering his forgotten drink, Adam swallowed down the contents of the glass, then turned it around in his hand while his throat worked through the burn.

"You've barely said two words since she left," Ben said.

Adam tilted his head, studying the fine crystal glass.

"A friend of mine is currently stationed at the Military Department in Georgia."

Not even a hint of reaction touched Ben's face at that statement. A considerable pause stretched out.

"I hope you know what you're doing, son."

"I need to find out where this guy is, Pa." The hazel gaze lifted and it was so bright, burning with determination. "I need to make sure that he isn't looking for her."

"I understand." Ben pushed himself up and out of his chair with a sigh. "It's late. You should try to get some sleep."

"I'm just gonna sit here for a while."

There was little to be done, Ben knew that, when his son returned to chasing those pensive thoughts. With nothing more to say, the father walked past the blue chair and headed for bed.


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi folks_

 _I have been very down over this review issue. It is very hard for me to know what to do when I receive messages advising me differently on how best to handle this situation._

 _Generally, I am against taking down reviews and I will not do so, regardless of what is written about **my story**. You all have the right to your own opinions and I have no right to interfere with that, nor would I want to. I like hearing them. But it's an unpleasant thing to be forced to interfere with what readers write to **each other** and whatever disagreements you may have with one another. So, I will not be doing that in the future unless it is unavoidable. If something is directly very offensive and inappropriate, then I will take that review down because no one should be upset. But you must be allowed to share your opinions and disagree with each other without fear of being removed from the review section. I received private messages pushing me to take down a review from a Guest who has left some truly wonderful and insightful reviews throughout this story. This Guest is one I am grateful to for each of those comments aimed at my writing and I hope that person will continue reviewing on the story content. _

_I am only trying to write a story here, for us all to share and enjoy together. I don't want to offend anyone, and I'm sorry if I have done so, but I am doing my best to handle this. I don't want to cause trouble between readers and I really don't want anyone to feel hurt or attacked._

 _This mini chapter was actually a spontaneous idea and written because of this review-drama-business. I'm sorry it isn't longer, but I wanted to address the issue and hopefully cheer everyone up with a lighthearted chapter as quickly as possible. I hope we can move on now and comment on **just the story**. _

_Thank you all very much for sharing your thoughts on the previous chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

"Give me that thing, will you?!"

"Shortshanks, you just hold onto your horses, I ain't finished with it yet!"

"You . . . How much are you using?!"

"Just get yur hands off!"

Ben released a sigh at the sound of his two youngest sons' bickering in the next room.

He couldn't wait to get them out of the house. After a long week of working out on the range in the relentless heat—they were all in need of doing some proper unwinding. The plan was to spend some time in town after church and Ben was sure it would do them all good.

Standing in front of the long mirror in his bedroom, he pulled his vest over his crisp, white shirt. He was going to meet up with Roy and Paul after the church service and he assumed that his two younger sons would go to the Bucket of Blood with their friends. Adam would be spending his time with Madeline, no doubt.

Ben picked up his black tie from the dresser and looped it around his collar, and he saw a frown appear on his face in the mirror as his mind once again turned to his firstborn.

Adam had been acting strangely ever since that afternoon of disturbing revelations. All that drama had occurred on Friday and throughout the whole of Saturday, Adam had been distracted, wearing that constant, serious expression. It was now Sunday, and earlier when Ben had woken up, he was displeased but not exactly surprised to find his oldest boy already up and at work out in the barn. He knew that Adam was very troubled by everything Madeline had been through and truthfully, Ben was too. He'd come to care very much about her over the last couple of months and since Friday, he'd thought about her and her past a lot too. But he was worried about his son's reaction. Because Adam had gone to that place where his mind was completely absorbed by something, where he couldn't let it go. And when he got like that, there was no telling how long it took before he was free of it again. What Ben feared the most, was that Adam would be so caught up in past events that he would neglect the present—and Madeline.

"Come on, watch it! You're spilling it everywhere!"

"Dadburnit, then quit pokin' at me!"

"Just hand it over already!"

Ben stood by the open door as a potent odor floated into his room, tickling his nose. Identifying the scent immediately and recognizing the next stop on its slow-drifting journey, he braced himself for the impending eruption.

He didn't have to wait long.

As he was struggling with the knot in his string tie, he heard marching footsteps pass his doorway and continue down the hall. The heavy gait came to an abrupt stop.

"What the devil are you two doing?!"

Silence.

" . . . Okay now, Adam, if you just calm down one sec-"

"Calm down? How many times do we have to go through this?!"

Abandoning the black string around his neck, Ben's eyes went heavenward in a silent prayer for strength as he walked out into the hall. After making his way to his youngest son's room, he took in the scene before him.

Adam stood seething, his white shirt hanging loose and unbuttoned, his arms crossed by his chest. The unfortunate recipients of his angry glare shifted nervously in front of him, Joe's hand tightly grasping a little blue bottle.

"Aaw Adam, little Joe was all run out and we didn't wanna scare folks away by turnin' up at church smellin' like horses." Hoss put his hands behind his back. "We was just borrowing a little—"

"A little?! Heck, it smells like you took a bath in it! Why can't you just leave my things alone?!"

Stepping forward, Adam snatched the incriminating object from Joe's hand, but then froze and stared at the meager remnants of his favorite Bay Rum cologne.

Ben noticed the pungent puddle spreading across the floorboards and looked up to see both his younger sons dressed in their Sunday best, attempting to hide behind each other—which in Hoss' case was quite an undertaking.

Deciding to intervene before blood was shed, Ben moved to stand in between his boys.

"Son, I'm sure your brothers meant no harm." He laid a pacifying hand on his firstborn's shoulder.

"It was almost full!" Adam waved the bottle in the air, making the last little splash bounce around inside the glass.

"I'm also certain, that they'll be happy to order and pay for a new one."

Knowing what was coming, Ben hid a smile as Adam bent his head and brought his thumb and forefinger up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was a gesture the rest of the family knew well and they also knew that Adam couldn't help it when he did it because it clearly indicated that his frustration was at a very particular level.

"Just . . ." His head lifted and he spoke calmer. "Just ask next time, will you?"

He turned to leave the room when Joe's hesitant voice addressed him. "We did ask, Adam . . ."

Stopping in the doorway, he slowly twisted around. "You did?"

"Yea, earlier in the washroom when you were shavin' we asked," Hoss said gently. "Ya just nodded and said 'yea, sure'"

Adam blinked as he looked at them. "Oh . . . I, uh . . . I guess I wasn't really listening."

He briefly glanced up at his father—exactly the same way he would have done at eight years old when he'd misbehaved—and Ben put a hand to his mouth, looking thoughtful although really, he was just trying to keep himself from laughing.

"Well, uh," Adam mumbled, "in that case, I shouldn't really be flying off at you like that . . ."

"Yea, you probably still should." Joe looked over at Hoss, then back at his oldest brother, his face apologetic. "We knew you weren't listening and we took it anyway."

"We're real sorry," Hoss said in a sincere tone.

With his lips gradually curving upward, Adam faced them, fond exasperation glowing in his eyes.

"Let's just say we're all sorry and forget about it. It's just a cologne."

Ben observed his three sons, looking like that special parental pride was ready to burst out of him.

"But you need to do something." Adam's nose wrinkled. "You'll definitely scare folks away if you turn up smelling like that at church."

"That bad, huh?" Joe rubbed his cheek and smelled his palm, grimacing.

"Yep."

Hoss went to the dresser and splashed water from the wash basin in his face while Joe grabbed a towel in an attempt to wipe some of the pungent scent off.

It was simple times like these that Ben was so grateful for and he watched each of his sons with an affectionate smile. During those four dreadful years, Adam's presence had been like a vital piece missing from the house and having him home now made the family complete again. They simply functioned properly again.

The father's gaze settled on his eldest who had set down the cologne flask on a dresser and was buttoning up his shirt.

Adam must have sensed it because he looked up, then down, then up again when Ben kept scrutinizing him.

His hands paused by the middle button of his shirt. " . . . What?" He glanced down at himself. "Something wrong?"

"Hmm? Oh, no," Ben said, but his mouth was slightly down-turned. "I was just thinking . . . your hair has gotten quite long."

"Pa . . ." Adam shook his head and continued with the next button.

"Your curls are starting to show."

"Curls?" Joe's head jerked over to them from where he stood by the mirror.

"No Joe, Pa is just—"

"Yes, he gets a few curls at the back of his neck when it gets too long."

"He does?" Joe came over, his face set in a wide grin. "Hey, let me see, Adam."

"No, there's nothing to—" Adam held up a hand to stop his youngest sibling's approach and took a breath. "I'm leaving this room now."

Grabbing the cologne flask from the dresser, the oldest Cartwright son ignored his chuckling father and went straight for the doorway and out into the hall.

"Hey . . ." Hoss said, his voice lowering as he spoke to his father and Joe, "I reckon he's tryin' to charm Madeline with them cute little curls."

"I heard that!"

Joe's bedroom filled with the laughter of all three men and Adam continued down the hall, a dimple pulling the right side of his mouth up.


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello everyone!_

 _I want to thank ALL of you for leaving me some heartwarming and wonderful reviews. Your support has meant more to me than words can say_ — _thanks to the Guests as well as the Members. :)_

I am excited to see what you think of this next chapter because things will be heating up now! Whether you just read it or review it as well, I hope you all enjoy it.

 _I really appreciate these last reviews because as I tried to express in my last Author's Notes, I see the review section as a place for commenting on **the story** , for agreeing **or** disagreeing and for sharing your thoughts on **the writing** , whatever they may be. It isn't a place for offensive or inappropriate reviews that don't relate to the story/writing. Editing out certain inappropriate remarks from an otherwise fine review, is also an option for authors, should it become relevant._

 _I have the utmost respect for your opinions and I love hearing them!_ _I will continue to work hard at creating a comfortable reviewing environment for you all._

 _Here we go with the next part of the story._

 _Warning here_ —some mild violence and mention of abuse in this chapter.

 _Thank you all again._

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

Tuesday the next week, Adam rode into Virginia City. It was half past two in the afternoon and the harsh sunlight was beating down on his tanned arms where his shirtsleeves were rolled up. Luckily, there was a mild summer breeze in the air and every now and again, it swept across his face like a soothing caress.

He was on his way to meet Madeline at Sally's Restaurant and they would then have the rest of the day alone together since Paul had left to go on his trip that morning. Normally, the thought of being alone with Madeline would give Adam that warm and giddy sensation that seemed to engulf his whole body. But that wasn't the case this time.

He had been swamped with work the previous day, so he hadn't seen her since Sunday where they'd spent the afternoon together after church. She had seemed happy to be with him as always, but as he rode home afterwards, he had the sense that things were different between them. Things had just changed. He was well aware that the reason for that change was twofold. They'd declared their love for each other, that was one part. The part that recurrently gave him the spontaneous urge to cavort around like a young buck, although that was really more his youngest brother's style. But his happiness was tempered by the nagging worry he felt for her. Now he knew her secret, and that was the second part, the thing he continued to struggle with. On Sunday she'd seemed nervous with him, especially the first few minutes—a bit like she'd been those first couple of times they'd met. He guessed that she was concerned about how he would see her and behave around her, now that he knew.

The truth was that he probably _was_ acting differently towards her. It was hard not to. Unavoidably, whenever he thought about her now, his mind would stray to that man—to what that animal had done to her. And the anger that had been simmering within him ever since he'd found out about it all, would threaten to overwhelm him all over again. He didn't even know what the guy looked like, yet Ray Bradshaw was in his head.

It was unfair to Madeline, he knew that, and she'd ended up carrying on a one-sided conversation more than once during their visit two days ago because he was distracted. But blocking those thoughts was beyond his control, as was curbing the sense of foreboding growing in his gut.

Back in the army, he'd endured ribbing from his colleagues who called him paranoid and even his men shared private, little jokes about it, even though they would never have dared say anything to his face. But after his so-called paranoia had gotten them out of what would have been a few hairy situations—the jibes had stopped coming. Admittedly, he wasn't in the army anymore and his edginess may well be unfounded. Still, he'd written and sent that letter to his friend in Georgia, given all the details he had on Ray Bradshaw, and asked for any further information his colleague could dig up on the man. Until a reply came with the mail, he'd probably still be uneasy, and he just hoped that Madeline would bear with him and not question him about it.

Before going to the restaurant, he stopped by the post office. While it was too soon to expect anything from Georgia, he hoped to hear from Jim and Henry this week. He was waiting for a confirmation that Henry had received his letter and accepted the invitation to come to Nevada. And he needed to have some idea about when his friend would be arriving. But there were no letters for the Cartwrights in the mail and Adam walked back outside to Sport, feeling a little disappointed. He could've really done with a message from his friends to take his mind a bit off the situation with Madeline.

As he continued on his way to the restaurant, his mood only got worse. The street was busy; there were horses and buggies passing him every other second, men and women walking along the boardwalks on either side of the road and the sound of jumbled conversation everywhere. A lot of unfamiliar faces were around, which wasn't exactly odd since many drifters and men looking for work had come to town recently. It was quite an ordinary day in Virginia City, but to Adam, everything was just stressful and far from normal. It seemed like he was riding through it all without really being a part of it—trying to take everything in, yet only managing to catch glimpses in an increasing chaos of fragmented impressions.

The level of his alertness gradually crawled up to where it had been almost constantly during the war. Whenever that itchy sensation would tell him to start preparing for the unexpected. His sharp hazel gaze began scanning the surroundings in earnest—people, shadows by the buildings, eyes watching him. At least it felt like they were watching him. The thoughts sped up in his mind to the point where they were like a train at risk of lurching off its tracks and he clutched the reins as he sat rigidly in the saddle, not noticing how Sport's head tossed from side to side, the horse sensing his tension. Pulling on the reins, he brought the mount to a sudden stop in the middle of the street. And he waited.

But there was absolutely nothing.

The typical, everyday scene in the town kept passing him by. A few cowboys nodded at him, saying hello, and children's bare feet patted along the floor of the boardwalk next to him as they chased each other, playing tag.

Sport snorted impatiently and Adam didn't object when the horse started moving again. He reached around to lift his shirt, irritated with how it was suddenly clinging to his back. Again, he tried pushing down that unsettling feeling, but it wouldn't dislodge itself completely. Something was wrong somewhere. But he honestly wasn't sure now whether the issue was with the world around him, or with himself.

The restaurant appeared up ahead, and Sport recognized their destination, so used to going there. Adam dismounted outside the building and absentmindedly tied the reins to the post, getting frustrated with himself. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but he needed to pull himself together—for Madeline's sake. After the way he'd acted on Sunday, he needed to be there for her properly now, especially with Paul being away.

He rolled his shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the tightness in his muscles. With a little pat to Sport's neck, he went towards the boardwalk and his right foot had just made it up onto the wooden floor when something made him stop. Slowly, he turned around and that's when he saw him. Fred Clayton, strolling along the boardwalk on the other side of the street. And the man's icy eyes were trained right on him. Clayton suddenly halted and leaned both hands on the rail of the walkway, bending forwards, facing out towards the street.

Adam stared straight back at him and lifted his foot as he stepped down onto the ground again, his movement casual, almost lazy. He took another step out towards the street, then settled into a stance with his boots firmly planted on the ground, his legs slightly spread, both hands dangling down by his sides.

Clayton eyed him with a growing scowl, clearly recognizing the stance for everything that it was—a warning as well as a challenge. Citizens and horses kept moving down the road in between the two men, unaware of the silent standoff that was going on. Eventually, Clayton pushed away from the rail. After delivering a tiny but dangerous nod at Adam, he continued down the street and Adam watched him until he disappeared from view. The man never looked back.

Adam spun around and strode back towards the boardwalk outside the restaurant, a colorful sequence of curses going off in his head. This was the last thing he needed. His nerves had well and truly flared up again.

Opening the door to the establishment, he went inside and saw Madeline standing behind the counter. Her face lit up in a beautiful smile at the sight of him and he pulled the door closed, then walked over to her.

"Hi," she said, but her joy quickly faded away. "Is everything all right . . .?"

"Yea. Are you ready to go?"

Her head tipped to one side in confusion. "We said four o'clock, Adam . . . I still have an hour of my shift left."

He blew out a breath through his nose. "I forgot, I thought it was at three."

She watched him cautiously as he took off his hat, tossing it down onto the counter.

"Well, would you like to go and visit with Sheriff Coffee? Or perhaps . . . to the saloon while you wait?"

"No." He drew in his lower lip and caught it with his teeth. "Can't we just go now? You stay late so often anyway."

"Adam, I have bread and a cake in the oven . . . I told Sally I would be here until four o'clock."

"Okay, fine."

Surveying the room filled with guests, he saw that it was actually quite busy today.

"Why don't you sit down," she said in a gentle voice, "and I'll bring you some coffee."

"Yea . . . yea, all right."

As Madeline went out into the kitchen, he grabbed his hat and made his way to the table closest to the counter where no one else was sitting. He threw the Stetson on the tabletop and fell down into the chair. The chatter in the room was deafening, that quickly became obvious to him. Those shriek voices and earsplitting exclamations would be enough to give any man a headache. And he realized that he was in fact the only male present—aside from the waiters going back and forth between the kitchen and the tables. He resettled in the chair, trying to make himself more comfortable and he looked over at the grandfather clock by the wall opposite him. _Great. Another fifty-five minutes of waiting._

His fingers began tapping the table in a restless staccato—almost in rhythm with the muddled thoughts bouncing around in his mind. He didn't want to tell Madeline about the little encounter with Clayton because it would only upset her. But this sense of misgiving was rapidly building inside him and he couldn't ignore it. What really agitated him, was that he had no idea what to do about the situation. He just knew that he felt threatened and that somehow, Madeline was too. Getting her home was the only thing he wanted to do at that moment. But then on the other hand—what if he was overreacting? The more he considered it, Adam couldn't honestly imagine that Clayton would make any move towards her after the warning he'd given him the last time. Clayton wasn't the brightest of men, but he was smart enough to know that in a duel between the two of them, he would come out the loser. Yet for some reason, Adam's usual logical thinking couldn't quash his anxiety. It was still there, like it was coursing through his veins, making his skin feel prickly all over, and right now, sitting still went against all his instincts.

His legs were vibrating under the table, his attention still fixed on the grandfather clock when he heard that familiar sound of her approach from his left.

"Here you are, fresh coffee and I saved some coffee cake from earlier I thought you might—"

"Madeline, I don't want coffee, I don't want any cake—I just want to get outta here."

He regretted each one of the snappy words as he said them, and when he faced her, she just stood there, the surprise and hurt achingly clear in her eyes. Before he could formulate any type of apology, an old and shrilly voice called from somewhere across the room.

"Madeline, dear? Could we perhaps have some more of that wonderful pound cake over here, please?"

Without looking at him, Madeline carefully put the plates with the coffee and cake down on the table, then turned in the direction of the woman who'd called out to her, smiling warmly.

"Of course, I'll be right there, Mrs. Terry."

She walked off, back towards the kitchen and Adam put his hand to his head, kneading his brow as he closed his eyes. " _Idiot,_ " he muttered, "c _omplete idiot_." When he briefly glanced at the plate with coffee cake, his chin dropped to his chest. She'd saved him one of the corner pieces that she knew were his favorites.

It wasn't long before he saw her come out of the kitchen again, carrying three plates of the requested pound cake. She stopped at the table where the three ladies sat and addressed them in her naturally warm tone, asking if there was anything else they needed. He didn't want to interrupt her work, so he stayed where he was, hoping that she would go over to him when she was finished serving them. But after they'd thanked her kindly, she just walked straight back to the kitchen and didn't so much as glimpse over at him.

For another couple of minutes he sat there, becoming more miserable by the second. He had just made the decision to go out into the busy kitchen and ask to talk with her when she suddenly appeared in the doorway again, walked around the counter and towards him, carrying some brown paper. She came to his table and he quickly swept his tongue out across his dry lips.

"Madeline, I'm really—" He stopped speaking as she began wrapping his untouched coffee cake in the paper. "Uh . . . what are you doing?"

"I'm taking this cake home with us. You might want it later."

"But . . . I thought—"

"I spoke with Sally. I'll just come in an hour earlier tomorrow."

It was only then that he noticed the little blue purse hanging on her wrist and that she was now wearing her matching felt hat. She finished wrapping the cake and slipped her hand under his arm, giving a little tug to get him to stand up. He weakly rose from the chair and looked up at her from under his brow.

"I'm sorry, Madeline . . ."

"It's all right. You needed this."

She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world and when she gently took his hand and smiled at him, a burst of warm emotion spread through his chest, threatening to spill out of him.

"Come on, let's go." She picked up the cake. "I'm making pork pie for supper and we need to stop by the store first."

"Yea, okay . . ."

He took his hat and followed her to the door, leaving a full and lonely coffee cup standing there on the table.

xXXx

Ten minutes later, they were walking down the street towards Paul's house with Sport moseying along behind them. Adam was carrying a bag of groceries in one arm and held Sport's reins loosely in the other hand.

"So, how was Paul?" He glanced over at Madeline next to him. "You haven't said anything about it."

Madeline held the wrapped coffee cake against her front and released a little sigh.

"Oh, he was as I expected he would be. He asked me a dozen times if I was sure that I would be all right. Then he checked another ten times or so that I knew the address of the hotel he'll be staying at in case I need to contact him." She turned to Adam, the fondness dancing in her green irises. "I'm afraid the gentleman driving the stagecoach was getting rather stressed about his time schedule and very frustrated with my uncle."

Adam nodded and looked ahead down the street.

"He'll probably be thinking about you the entire time he's away."

"Oh, I hope not, Adam." The note of concern in her words drew his attention back to her. "I want him to have a nice trip. I wish he wouldn't worry so about me."

"Paul only worries because he cares about you, Madeline. Just like I do."

He looked seriously at her, but mischief tugged at the corners of her lips as she lightly brushed his shoulder. "And the two of you make a fine pair of mother hens, I must say."

Recognizing what she was trying to do, he attempted a smile, but his mouth only managed a grimace and they carried on down the street in silence.

"You haven't heard from your friend Henry yet?" she asked after a while and by the tone of her voice, he instantly knew that she was regarding him with one of those soft and understanding Madeline-looks. He kept watching the road.

"No. I went by the post office earlier but there was nothing."

"I'm sure it won't be much longer. Perhaps his reply has been delayed a bit. He is probably just as excited to come out and see you as you are eager to see him."

The smile that broke out across his face then couldn't have been further from the one before. Did she even have any idea how amazing she was? How good she was for him?

Those were the questions he mulled over as he turned his head to study her.

Her left eyebrow lifted and rounded when she noticed. "And just what is that look for, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Just for you." He moved to his right, walking as close to her as he possibly could and leaned down a bit. "Did I tell you yet that you look beautiful today?"

"Hmm, no actually, I don't believe you did, sir."

"Well, you look very beautiful today."

"I appreciate the sentiment," she laughed, sweeping away some breadcrumbs that she just now saw had stuck to her blouse, "but I hardly think that my current appearance is about to make you swoon."

The answer was no. She had absolutely no idea.

"If there was ever a woman who could make me swoon, you'd be the one."

He said it half-jokingly, but she must have caught onto his sincerity, because she sported a thougtful smile of her own then.

"Adam Cartwright swooning . . . that would be quite something," she said softly.

A loud snort sounded close behind them.

Adam twisted around to his horse. "Oh yea? Well, who asked you?"

Madeline giggled heartily and put a hand around his arm as they continued down the road.

xXXx

They ended up having a nice afternoon together and as the evening progressed, Adam's tension gradually eased away. It was her—being with her, seeing her smile, listening to her talk. She gave him that special peace that he couldn't get anywhere else and it amazed him, how he could relax with her and let go of the stress that had flooded him earlier in the day.

After having a Hoss-sized portion of her pork pie, he got out the chess board and each game they played was prolonged by the talking that went on in between moves. It was one of the things he appreciated and loved most about being with her—they seemed to never run out of things to talk about. The conversation didn't turn to her past and the things she'd told him on Friday though. This was the first whole evening they'd spent alone together and he wanted to connect with her properly again and get back to that place they'd been at before all the secrets and revelations. As it turned out, it all came easier than he'd thought it would and while things weren't quite the same as before, that tense awkwardness which had been there on Sunday was now practically gone again.

He stalled his departure for as long as he could, and as a result, it was well-passed-sundown-dark outside when he got ready to leave. She saw him to the door and lingered in the doorway as he stepped out onto the porch. The heat of the day had gone, along with the street bustle. Left now was just that mild night chill and the distant sounds of drunken laughter and dogs barking. Adam glanced up at the velvety darkness above, seeing that he would have an unfettered view of the stars for the ride home.

"It's terribly dark isn't it? I hadn't realized . . ."

Although he had his back to her, he knew exactly what expression was on her face and he was smiling before he even turned around.

"It'll be fine. Sport could find his way home with his eyes closed."

Madeline opened her mouth to say something just as a sudden, high-pitched shout came from somewhere up the street. Adam had already spun around—his fingers grasping the grip of his gun—by the time her hand shot to her chest in shock. The shout was followed by a bout of roaring laughter coming from three swaying contours on the road as they leaned over a forth figure stretched out on the ground. Adam's shoulders fell back down, his own breath mingling with the cool night air as he watched the three men pick up their fallen comrade. They continued down the road as one broad, eight-legged being—grunting, whispering and giggling.

"A lot of drifters have come to town over the last week," he said, facing Madeline again, his hand leaving his gun. "The saloons are more fired up at night than usual, even in the middle of the week. Are you _sure_ you'll be all right on your own? I can stay with you here tonight if you want."

A quiet spell settled between them.

"Uh . . . I'd sleep in the guestroom . . . obviously."

There was a little trace of pink blooming on her cheeks, but the tenderness in her gaze was evident as it locked onto him. "Your father and brothers would be worried if you didn't come home."

"Maybe at first, but they know you're on your own here, they'd figure it out."

"Adam," she said patiently, "you know as well as I, what it would mean if people saw you leave this house early tomorrow morning. Everyone knows that Uncle Paul is away . . ."

"And _you_ know that I don't care about people's opinions or what anyone might say about—"

"It would be the first thing my uncle heard about, the minute he arrived home."

". . . You've got a point." Adam's eyebrows drew together at that notion. "But I can be pretty sneaky, remember? No one would know. The most important thing to me is making sure you're all right."

"I'll be just fine," she said, her appearance intent and reassuring. "I am going straight to bed, I need to be at the restaurant early tomorrow."

He scrutinized her for a moment, then swept a look up and across the front of the house.

"You'll lock the door when I go?"

"Yes, Adam. I will lock this door and the backdoor is already locked. Please, don't worry." She paused and her sight flickered out to the dark street again. "You will be careful riding home?"

"Sure, I will."

He scratched his neck. "Okay . . . I'll see you tomorrow then, I guess . . ."

"Yes, all right."

Leaving her without even a little kiss seemed completely wrong to him now, so he leaned towards her, slowly, giving her time to turn her cheek to him if she wanted to. He was glad when she didn't and instead, he felt her lips curve slightly against his.

"Thanks," he said as he pulled back, "for supper and the cake. It's the one cake I'd probably fight Hoss over."

"You're welcome. And since I make that cake almost every day now, there is luckily no need for any fighting to be done."

The way her dimples flashed as she spoke just made him want to kiss her again. They stood there watching each other and she glanced out at the street and back at him, but when he made no move down the porch stairs, she gave him a curious look.

"You're not seeing me off today." He crossed his arms firmly. "I'm not leaving until I see you close that door and hear you lock it."

"Oh, Adam . . ."

Shaking her head, she stepped back inside the house and held the door ajar. She smiled at him one last time. "Be careful . . ."

"I will be, I promise. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Adam."

The door closed quietly and he waited until he heard the sound of the lock clicking. He uncrossed his arms and let his eyes glide across the front of the house again. Then he turned and went down the stairs to where Sport was waiting. He'd ridden home in the dark more times than he could count and he really wasn't worried. A ride under the stars might actually be just what he needed.

Peering out of the window, Madeline watched him ride off and said a silent little prayer to keep him safe. After checking the lock on the front door once more, she walked down the hall, stopping by the sitting room to turn out the oil lamps. It was odd, not having her uncle in the house and as she passed the burgundy wing back chair, her fingers gently stroked the smooth armrest. Hopefully, he would have a good trip and enjoy spending some time with his colleagues.

Carrying one lamp, she headed out into the hall and towards the kitchen, the click-clacking sound of her steps resonating through the quiet house. She set down the lamp on the kitchen table and walked over to check the lock on the backdoor at the far end of the room. A frown formed on her face. She was sure that she'd locked it earlier after supper. Her fingers went to the iron bolt by the latch and she slid it sideways, locking the door. She faced the kitchen again, her lips pursing as she eyed the tray with the empty coffee pot and cups. While she hated leaving any kitchen in a mess, it was just too late now, so she ended up putting the dishes on the work bench by the sink, deciding to wait until morning with cleaning it up. She walked back to the table and reached out to take the low-burning lamp when her hand suddenly froze. There was a different scent hanging in the air—so faint she'd almost missed it. It was new to this room but terrifyingly familiar to her, and her heartbeat spiked in her chest, beginning a wild racing. Her eyes darted to the dark doorway leading out into the hall, then they moved back across the room towards the backdoor. Her gaze never made it that far though. Because as it passed over the wall opposite her, she realized that what she'd vaguely thought was one of her uncle's jackets hanging on a hook by the pantry, was in fact the figure of a man. She stared at him for an eternal, nightmarish moment, her eyes so wide that the whites showed all around and her mouth falling open, but she didn't have air enough to scream.

"Hello, Madeline."

He came out of the shadows and all the muscles in her body seemed to turn liquid. Involuntarily, she spent the last tiny breath in her lungs on his name.

"Ray!"

"My, my . . ." He tut-tutted and moved closer to her. "How far from home the little lamb has strayed."

He looked almost exactly the same as last she saw him, except now he had a thin mustache—the ends curling upward like a beard-smile. He had the appearance of a gentleman; his mahogany hair neatly-combed back, the groomed grey-touched sideburns going down past his earlobes. He was dressed as a gentleman, wearing an evening suit of black—a stark contrast to his pale face. It was a sickly white, a fish-belly white. And he had the hands of a gentleman, clean and smooth, used to handling pencils and papers and shaking other gentlemen's hands. People would be shocked to know of the violence those hands could inflict. But Madeline knew.

She took a slow step backwards, her eyes dashing left, over to the doorway.

"Go ahead. Try it."

He smiled at her, wolfishly and hungrily.

Her feet were like blocks of ice attached to her legs and he started to come around the table on her right side, gliding like a snake, ready to strike. She waited a second longer, then sprang left, trembling fingers gathering up her skirts to prevent them from hindering her escape. The loud clattering on the floorboards was thunderous as she ran across the floor, to the doorway, out into the dark hall, and she could just make out the outline of the front door. Four feet—two feet from the door—and that little spark of hope was brutally throttled by an iron-grip on her arm. She was swung around with dizzying speed, slammed up against the wall with such force that her cry of pain was muffled by the mirror falling to the floor and shattering. His voice—grated with menace—hissed against her face.

"Did you really think that I wouldn't find you?! _Miss Delaney . . ._ "

"Let go of me!"

Moonlight, pouring through the window by the door, silvered the hall as she struggled against him. She clawed at his arms, at his front—at anything—and she cried out again when he tightened his hold, feeling as if the bone in her arm could snap at any second. When she sucked in a breath to scream for help, his hand flew to her mouth, covering the entire lower half of her face.

"Make another sound and I'll have that man you were with shot!"

She immediately stopped thrashing, her eyes huge and shimmering with terror.

"Oh yes, I know about him. His life is worth nothing more than a snap of my fingers, Madeline. I open that door and give the order and he is as good as dead."

His steel-blue eyes bore straight through her into the wall behind her and he lowered his hand, leaving a salty dampness on her lips.

"Please," she gasped, "don't hurt him!"

"Just look at you." He wiped his palm on his pants, his lips curling in disgust. "You desert your husband, you come out here to this savage land and fall into bed with a common cowboy."

"No! It isn't like that—"

"You _humiliated_ me!"

A whimper escaped her as he squashed her against the wall, her head jerking to the side as his alcohol-drenched breath burned her cheek and neck.

"Ray Bradshaw . . ." he mumbled, staring down her neck, "deserted by his adulterous wife as his estate lay in ruins."

"Ray, please let go, you are _h-hurting_ me . . ."

"DIDN'T I PROVIDE FOR YOU?!" She flinched and grimaced as droplets of spittle hit her face. "You were given the best of everything! You wore the finest dresses, you had servants catering to your every need. And what did you give me in return? Not even a son to carry on my legacy!" He gripped her chin, twisting her violently to face him. "A now ruined legacy, Madeline."

A sheen of water covered her eyes and her lower lip suddenly pushed up as she tipped her head back.

"You _know_ why I left you, Ray," she breathed, contempt finding its way into her shaking voice. "I begged you to stop the abuse, but you wouldn't listen. Three years and you never listened."

The wildness in his expression seemed to diminish, replaced by something else which made a shiver course through her. He smiled at her then, a smile like a knife; thin and sharp-edged, the silver beam from the window causing his teeth to glint.

"Madeline, Madeline . . ." He moved his hand to softly stroke her cheek and a tear trailed down, striking his thumb. "So beautiful and fair . . . and still that feisty spirit."

She let out a choked breath when his body pressed fully against her, a wave of acid rising from her stomach up to her throat when his beard touched her mouth. She squirmed as he kissed her—her face contorting in repulsion, but he was far too strong for her to push him away. His lips were where Adam's had been moments ago, tarnishing the memory of that sweet and gentle kiss he'd given her on the porch.

When Ray drew back, the pressure against her front eased and she breathed deeply as tears flowed down her face. His countenance was lit with satisfaction as he looked her over.

"Now . . . you are going to tell me about the man you were with."

His voice was Southern-smooth and like melted honey, but she didn't respond.

"I'll find out who he is Madeline, you know that. There's no need to test the patience I'm trying to show you."

" . . . He is just a friend."

Suddenly Ray flung himself against her again, and she squeaked in pain as he tugged her head upwards by her hair.

"Why do you _insist_ on making this so difficult for me? You were with him since this afternoon—you spent the entire evening with him." He loosened his hold on her twisted locks a little. "Now, try again. Without the lies this time and give me a name."

"Cartwright," she panted, her eyelids closing. "Adam Cartwright . . ."

"And have you lain with him?"

"No! I haven't, not with anyone . . ."

His calculating gaze drifted over her.

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it for now. Whatever it's worth."

He released her hair and it fell down across her face, a tangled, messy veil muffling her quiet sobs.

"When are you to meet him again?"

She carefully brushed her hair away as her body continued to shake, but she didn't reply, just turned herself into the wall, away from him.

"It is of no matter." He casually began straightening his slightly ruffled suit. "Get a pen and paper. You'll be writing a letter. You'll tell him that you don't want to see him anymore and that he is to stay away from you."

Leaning her sticky cheek against the wall, she looked heavenward as spasms of anguish raked through her.

"It won't work. He will never believe it, we—" Her voice faltered, and she pressed a hand against her chest. "He will know that something is wrong. He'll come here the moment he reads it."

"Then I suggest that you try very hard to convince him, Madeline." Ray leaned close to the side of her face. " _Very hard_ indeed."

He continued in a laid-back manner.

"I have come here with a few new associates I met while looking for you. We have some business to conduct here in Virginia City. Once it's finished, you and I will be leaving."

"I am not leaving with you, Ray," she said and faced him. "I'm going to contact a lawyer tomorrow and I will bring forth a request for divorce. I want to be free of this marriage."

"My dear wife, you don't seem to understand . . ." His tone was measured and calm but the twitching vein by his left eye revealed just how close he was to losing control again. "You will do exactly as I tell you. Unless you want people to get hurt. Like your cowboy for instance . . . or perhaps your uncle?"

An icy chill crept up on her, numbing every limb.

"You never even told me you had an uncle," he sneered, reveling in her reaction. "Of course, at the moment, he is away, but if you insist on staying here, I would be inclined to stick around and meet him."

"Ray!" she exclaimed, her fingers splaying out in a fan against her breastbone, "you can't do this! They have done nothing to you, please, all I want is to start a new life here and—"

"You are _my_ wife Madeline, I _am_ your life. Don't you dare think that I won't make good of my threat."

He stared her down until she hung her head and he reached up to adjust his now crooked black tie.

"From now on, you will be watched. Every move you make will be seen by eyes employed by me, as if I were watching you myself, only you won't know who or where they are." Her face remained down-turned as he spoke, pain stabbing at her body from the inside and out. "You will follow your daily routines as usual. I understand you have acquired a job at a local restaurant? Well, you'll act as you normally would and avoid rousing suspicion. If you tell anyone about any of this, that person will be silenced. And if you go within five feet of the sheriff's office, my men will have orders to take action immediately."

He paused, rubbing the cleft in his chin with a finger.

"Does anyone know about me? That you are in fact Mrs. Bradshaw?"

She shook her head, managing to strike the perfect balance between not being too forceful or too hesitant.

" . . . Not even your uncle?"

Feeling his narrowed gaze on her, she raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye, displaying a calmness that belied the whirling turmoil inside her.

"No. I told him that I left Georgia because of the war and destruction. He never knew I was married. "

She even achieved a hint of regret in her tone, and he watched her for another few intense seconds before giving a nod. His head was slightly bowed, his face enveloped in shadow and she wasn't sure what was worse—seeing his deathly white pallor in the moonlight or seeing nothing at all—just knowing that he was there.

"When this . . . _Cartwright . . ._ comes to see you tomorrow, as you believe he will after reading your letter . . . you better make sure that he is in no doubt about your rejection. You see, it's for his own good really. Since there will be a gun trained on him as soon as he nears this house."

He looked up, angling his head in a way so that she could only see half of his face and one piercing eye.

"If he gets too close to entering the house, I'll take it as a sign that you are planning to tell him about everything and he will be killed. If I have any reason to believe that you're saying something else to him or giving him some kind of hidden message, he'll be killed. Frankly, the odds of him meeting his demise tomorrow are rather high. And you hold the key to his survival. Do you understand these rules?"

She summoned one last pleading look for him, but it was no use. Her head dropped down again.

"Good. Now, get writing that letter. I'll make sure that it is delivered to this _Adam Cartwright_."

xXXx

Half an hour later, Madeline was alone in her uncle's house. Her back was aching, and her arms were red and sore from where Ray had gripped her. She pressed her palm against her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut as she stifled the screams of horror that wanted out. Drowning, she was drowning in an ocean of despair and she had no idea how to save herself. The thought of leaving Adam, of leaving her uncle was like a lead weight tied to her, pulling her down into the dark abyss. And the paralyzing ache of what she had done, what she would be forced to do tomorrow, prevented her arms from flailing and her feet from kicking.

They were the hardest words she'd ever written. They were lies. Already she was feeling her heart ripped open because she had hurt the man she loved deeply—he just didn't know it yet.

She supported herself against the wall because the hall was swimming. Or perhaps it was her eyes. Her blurry gaze fell to the mirror shards littering the floor in the foyer and suddenly her legs would no longer hold her up. She sank to her knees, still holding a palm against her mouth, the fragile dam it was.

Her face was on the floor, in tiny pieces, broken and mangled.


	21. Chapter 21

_Author's Notes_

 _Hiya guys!_

 _Thank you very much members and guests for the great reviews and comments on the last chapter! I do apologize for_ _leaving you all (and Madeline) with such an ending though, so I tried to get this next part up as quickly as I could..._

 _I hope you all enjoy this and thank you again, I really appreciate it._

* * *

 **Chapter 21**

Ben walked out of the house, stretching his arms out to either side of him as he released a low grunt. He stopped on the porch and put both hands on the small of his back to rub out the kinks that had settled there again. Lately, it seemed like he was spending more time behind his desk than anywhere else and the paperwork still kept piling up. This was the busiest time of year for the ranch and while he was very pleased with how well business was going, it was becoming a real challenge to keep up with the accounting. Years ago, Adam had suggested hiring someone who could help out with the bookkeeping, but Ben had thought it unnecessary at the time. Now though, he was beginning to wonder if the time for a change had finally come. . .

He looked up at the sky and spent a couple of minutes just enjoying the warmth of the sun, until a movement to his left captured his attention. Joe came out of the tool shed at the side of the house, carrying an axe across his shoulder and Ben called out to him.

"I thought you boys would have been off by now?"

Startling a little, Joe stopped abruptly. "Oh, hey Pa." He headed towards his father. "Yea well, older brother saw that the buggy's wheels needed greasing and he decided to give it one darn thorough inspection." He pointed in the direction of the barn and stepped up onto the porch. "I spent half an hour tidying up the tool shed, and he still isn't finished."

Ben's sight drifted out to the empty yard, and he noticed the black boot sticking out from under the buggy parked by the barn. There was a bucket of pine tar standing next to the wagon-wheel.

"You know how your brother is," Ben said and looked back at his youngest with an affectionate smile. "Once he sets out to do a job, he wants to do it right."

"Just because he wants to do it right, don't mean he can't speed things up a bit. I don't know why he always has to—" Seeing his father's dark eyebrows lift, Joe let out a grudging groan and swung the axe down to rest it on the porch floor. "I guess I can wait a little while longer."

Chuckling, Ben put an arm around his young son's shoulders.

"Even if you'd left two hours ago, I doubt that you would have finished fixing that east fence-line along the ridge today. It'll probably take you most of tomorrow too."

"I don't care if it takes the rest of the week to finish it, Pa. As long as I'm free of chores Sunday afternoon to go to that dance in town, I won't be complaining."

Ben studied his boy as Joe kept watching the buggy for any sign that his older sibling was finishing up.

"I'm glad to see you in better spirits again, son." Pausing, he waited for Joe to face him. "I know that I've been a bit preoccupied with Adam for some time and then with work . . . well, I didn't really get around to talking properly with you about this thing with Maisy." He released his youngest's shoulder with a little pat. "I'm sorry things didn't work out."

Joe's mouth instantly widened into that infectious grin. "It's all right, Pa. Actually, it was Hoss and Adam who helped me with that. I had a long talk with Maisy and she wasn't all that upset. We're still good friends too. Besides"—his sparkly green eyes went round and innocent—"it just wouldn't do for the handsomest boy in the territory to be tied down to dancing with only one girl on Sunday."

"Oh, you little—"

Joe laughed and ducked away from his father's swatting hand, but their fun was interrupted by a new arrival in the yard. A young man came riding in at a high speed and sprang down from his horse. They nodded at him when he tipped his hat towards them.

"I have a message for Adam Cartwright, is he around?"

"Over here," Adam called as he crawled out from under the buggy.

Ben and Joe watched Adam stand up, wiping his hands on a towel as the newcomer approached him. The two shared a few brief words and the messenger handed Adam an envelope. He then walked back to his horse, mounted up and left the yard as quickly as he'd come. Ben observed his firstborn closely and moved down off the porch with Joe in tow. When they got to Adam, he was squinting at the paper in his hands as if he didn't understand what he was reading.

"Is everything all right, son?"

Adam continued to examine the message and Ben caught a glimpse of the elegant handwriting, but he couldn't make out any words.

"I have to go to town . . ."

He folded the paper and stuffed it in his back pocket before grabbing the black Stetson lying on the buggy. When he strode towards Sport by the hitching rail, Ben and Joe shared a confused look and followed him.

"Adam? Has something happened?"

After mounting up, Adam gazed down at his brother and father with an odd, blank expression.

"I don't know," he mumbled, "I'm . . . I don't know."

He pulled his hat lower across his face, kicked Sport's sides and the horse jerked forwards, thundering out of the yard.

"Am I following him?" Joe asked, not taking his eyes off his disappearing brother.

"No . . . whatever that was about, I think we need to leave him be for now."

In truth, Ben wanted nothing more than to ride after his oldest son himself and he ground his teeth together, feeling the worry creeping up on him. There was no use in it though, Adam would hate it if anyone went after him when he was in such a mood, there was no doubt about it.

Alone in the yard now, Ben faced his youngest and tried to keep his tone as light as possible.

"We know what he's like, it's best to let him go alone." Putting a hand on Joe's back, Ben gently guided him to the porch again. "Now, we both have work to do. Let's get to it."

"Yea . . . okay, Pa."

* * *

A bout of hard knocks on the front door almost made Madeline spill the untouched cup of tea between her hands. Her face tipped upward and her eyelids blinked rapidly. This was it. She rose from the chair and went out into the hall just as the knocking started up again. Pausing in the foyer, she swept a look down herself, smoothed out the long sleeves of her blouse and did up the top button by her neck. She unlocked the door and reached for the door handle, then took one last huge breath, preparing herself for the performance of her life.

The relief in Adam's expression was evident when she opened the door and he took off his hat, revealing the deep furrows across his brow. God, all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms.

"I uh . . . I went to the restaurant, but Sally said you'd left early. Are you all right?"

 _Oh Adam, no I'm not all right!_

"Yes, thank you. I just had a bit of a headache earlier, but I am better now."

His frown dug even deeper into his features at her monotone reply and he held up his left hand.

"I wanted to talk to you about this."

She glanced at the letter between his fingers. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you in person, Adam."

"So, you . . . you _did_ write this?"

"Yes, I did."

His face fell, and it was only because of her intense fear for him that she managed to wrench the next words from her throat. "I did a lot of thinking last night, after you left. About you and I . . . and I feel that this is how things must be. At least for now, anyway."

"I don't understand," he said slowly. "Yesterday things seemed fine, I thought that we . . ." He shook his head and took a step closer to her. "Madeline, did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing you have done, please don't think that." The affection in her tone was one she had no way of hiding. "It is me . . . I have some things I must settle. And I can only do that alone."

"But I . . . it doesn't make sense. You really mean that you don't want us to be together anymore? I can't even . . . come to see you anymore?"

"Under the circumstances—" She halted for a second to steady her voice, "I think that it would be best if you didn't come by here for a while."

 _Until I am gone._

He turned his side to her, rubbing a hand across his mouth then slowly down his chin. She risked a quick glance out across the street, but saw nothing other than horses and people moving down the road—all of them blissfully unaware of what was transpiring on Doctor Paul Martin's porch. Sensing Adam shift, she swiftly faced him again and his quiet words were almost drowned out by the noise from the street behind him.

"Can I . . . can I come in for a moment, just to talk?"

"No! No, Adam . . ."

As discreetly as possible, she placed the palm of her hand over her churning stomach because she was convinced that her reply had been just a little bit too insistent. But he didn't look suspicious. Only hurt.

 _I need to get you away. I need you to be safe._

"I am sorry," she said, "but I think you should leave now."

She was about to twist back around to the door, but suddenly he looked straight at her, desperation burning out through his eyes, scorching her.

"Madeline, you don't mean that—you _can't_ mean that! Just please, tell me what's wrong?"

"Adam, please don't—"

"Is this about what happened last week?" He stepped even closer to her, lowering his voice. "About the things you told me regarding your past?"

She lowered her gaze—too afraid to look at him because of what he might see. At any moment, that gunshot could crack through the air. Any moment . . .

"I told you that I understood, that I'll wait for you. All I want is to be with you, you know that . . ."

"It isn't as simple as that . . ."

"But why isn't it? I know I've been a bit . . . well, my mood hasn't been the best lately and I'm sorry for that. If you need a day to yourself to just—"

"I need more than a day Adam, I have to be on my own for a while," she said more firmly. "I know it must be difficult for you, but try to understand . . ."

His face jerked away from her and then finally, she saw it. Over on the opposite side of the street—a shadowed form peeking out of the alley between two houses. Her eyes flew back to Adam and her fingers squeezed the fabric of her skirt to keep them from shaking.

"Please go. I am sorry, but you _have_ to go now, Adam."

He looked like a dog that had been kicked and her sore arms and aching back were nothing compared to the pain cutting straight into her heart at the sight. She spun around before he could say another thing, and grasped the bleary shape of the doorknob. Everything seemed to happen at a strange, slow pace, but she made it inside and closed the door behind her. With her back leaning against the wood, she stood completely still as she listened, praying like she'd never prayed before. If something happened to him because of her . . .

 _Oh, God please . . ._

A minute went by and all was quiet. No gunshot came. Cautiously, she turned and peered out of the window beside the door and what she saw made a lump settle at the base of her throat. Adam had stepped down off the porch and he was by Sport. First, it looked like he was preparing to mount up, but realization tore into her with ruthless force. He was just standing there, leaning against the horse with his arms resting across the saddle, his head hanging down. Her eyes burned as she watched him and she pressed her lips tightly together, worried that she would end up crying out to him. Eventually, his shoulders raised, and he swung himself up into the saddle. He didn't look back at the house, just set off down the street and her forehead fell against the door.

 _Please forgive me, my love._

xXXx

The sun was rapidly dropping towards the horizon, tinting the thin veil of clouds above Virginia City from white to pink and painting the sky a blend of orange and crimson. That special evening lull had come over the town's streets and parties of people, men and women dressed in formal wear, strolled along as they chatted excitedly. Some had plans at restaurants and hotels for fine dining and dancing while others had tickets for the theater.

Sauntering down the boardwalk on C Street, was a man dressed in a dark-blue evening suit. He was close to forty, but people who didn't know that would likely have guessed him to be younger. Despite the few, grey strands in his hair and the slight wrinkles by his eyes, his demeanor resembled that of a young man in his mid-twenties. Energetic, purposeful and bold—but in a gentlemanly way. He had the kind of pleasant-looking face that wore a constant smile, even when his mouth was just a straight line, and the confidence in his gait matched the glint of arrogance in his eyes.

Two women, whose ages were closer to twenty than thirty, passed him on the boardwalk and he slowed down, tipping his bowler hat as he smiled charmingly at them. They nodded in greeting, hiding their giggles behind two waving hand fans and he continued on his way. He smirked inwardly, well aware that the women were turning their heads at that very moment to look back at him.

Up ahead, his destination came into view—the International House. Glancing around himself, he waited patiently for two buggies to pass him before he crossed the street. He jumped up the three steps to the door of the hotel and pulled it open just as a young couple were about to exit the building. Moving to the side, he inclined his head politely as he held the door for them. They thanked him and after they'd gone past him, he went inside. He walked straight to the front desk and the hotel clerk smiled warmly at him.

"Good evening, Mr. Barns, how are you, sir?"

"Good evening, Mr. Stanford, I'm well, thank you. Have any messages been delivered to me this afternoon?"

"No sir. But about the inquiries you made earlier today, I am to inform you that a table in our private lounge has been arranged for yours and Mr. Wickworth's party of guests tonight."

"Excellent, I'm glad you were able to sort it out."

"It was our pleasure, sir." The clerk reached beneath the counter and held out a little card. "If you just show this card, it will give you access to the lounge at any time during your stay with us."

"Thank you," the other man said as he took it.

"Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Barns."

"You too."

Tucking the little card into the pocket of his suit jacket, Mr. Barns headed past the desk and to the staircase. He went up to the third floor and walked down the hall with rooms on either side of him, but continued past his own room, number thirty-two. He walked another few feet and stopped outside room number thirty-six, then hit the door with three firm knocks.

"Who is it?" a muffled voice asked.

"It's just me."

A couple of seconds later, the door opened and a short, red-faced man appeared in the doorway.

"About time you got here, Chris. I've been waiting."

"Calm down." Mr. Barns rolled his eyes and walked inside the room. "I'm in plenty of time, Robert."

"Plenty of time, he says . . ." Robert Wickworth let the door slam shut and turned to face the room. "The guests will be here in less than an hour and we were supposed to go over things another couple of times."

"Oh relax, will you?" Mr. Barns strolled to the liquor cabinet by the opposite wall. "Everything is under control. The widow and that Miss Fisher have both already warmed up to me. After this evening they'll be ready to make some sizable investments, I guarantee it." He poured whiskey into two glasses as he spoke. "The three gentlemen will need a little more persuading. But they're already intrigued and when they hear the proposition we'll present them with tonight, they'll be eager to learn more."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Wickworth grumbled, dabbing at his sweating forehead with a handkerchief as he paced over to the wing chair by the window.

"Of course I am. I thought you'd learned that about me by now."

With the two glasses in hand, Mr. Barns went over to his partner who dropped heavily down into the chair. He pushed one of the drinks into Wickworth's hand.

"Have some. You clearly need it."

"You know what I really need, Chris? Is for you to get your priorities straight." Wickworth downed the whiskey in one go, his mouth twisting as if he'd bitten into a moldy plum. "What are you doing about this wife-situation of yours?"

"I'm handling it," Mr. Barns said, casually sipping his drink. "Just like I said I would."

"To be quite frank, your way of handling things is straight-out disturbing. You've jeopardized everything by confronting her this early in the game!" The man in the chair slammed his empty glass down onto the table next to him. "Just because you let your jealousy get the better of you after seeing her with that young fellow! Now she knows you're here—she could ruin the whole thing!"

"Have you finished yet?" Mr. Barns leaned an arm on the backrest of the chair opposite his bristling partner. "I can handle her, she'll say nothing to anyone, trust me."

"Trust you?! This entire ploy is riding on your credibility. How are you going to charm any single women around here into giving you money if it gets out that you're married? Not to mention—one word from your wife could bring both of our backstories crashing down! If our new shareholders found out we've lied—"

"I told you to relax." Mildly irritated, Mr. Barns walked around the chair and over to the window. "There's no need to worry. She won't say anything, I know how to control my wife."

Wickworth released a sarcastic chuckle, his white shirt struggling to contain his bulging belly as it jiggled. "Forgive me, but your history would indicate otherwise!"

The man by the window slowly turned around. "Watch yourself, Robert."

The sudden deadly tone and eerie gaze made Wickworth pause and a chilling quiet filled the room. Mr. Barns faced the window once again.

"I have men watching her constantly. Men who would never betray me. She knows what I'm capable of, she'll follow my rules."

"What about the man she was with?" Wickworth asked calmly.

"He's out of the picture."

Hesitating, Wickworth watched his partner intently. "Chris . . . what did your men do to him?"

"They will only use violence as a last resort. Nothing has been done to him. Yet."

Swiping a hand across the bald top of his head, Wickworth sighed. "I don't know why you're going to all this trouble—why you would put our whole plan at risk just because of this woman even if she is your wife. Granted, her beauty is extraordinary, but the money—"

"I don't just want the money. I want her too."

"Chris, if we keep making as much as we have done up until now with this scheme, you'll be able to have any woman you want."

"As I said . . ." Mr. Barns moved away from the window. "I want _her_."

"Fine then. But while you were obsessing about her all day, you didn't get a single investor hooked."

"I'll have plenty hooked just like every other town we've been to, you can be sure of it. I had no idea that people out here in this part of the country were so painstakingly gullible." He walked over to the liquor cabinet again. "So quick to throw their money into a railroad they haven't even heard of . . . they deserve to lose every penny."

"I told you it would work, didn't I?" Wickworth pointed a finger at the other man. "You just remember that this was my idea in the first place and I can continue with the plan without you if you're set on putting everything on the line for some girl."

Mr. Barns scoffed as he poured himself another drink. "Don't fool yourself, Robert, you would have been nowhere without me. It's because of me and my contacts that you have those, remember?" He gestured to the suitcase filled with papers lying on the table.

"Without my help, you'd have only your word to go on. Now you have hundreds of railroad bonds that look perfectly credible even though they have been issued by a railroad company that doesn't exist. They include a brief history of our 'very successful business', land surveys and negotiations for land, a list of important people involved in the enterprise . . ." Taking the whiskey bottle with him, he went back over to the chairs. "No one would have been as thorough as I've been with this.

"And another thing," he said, his eyes gleaming as he refilled his partner's empty glass. "You need me as your promoter. You simply aren't charming enough to sell this deal, my friend." Wickworth snorted, but Mr. Barns went on, "Just like you would never have been able to get our party into the hotel's private lounge this evening as I have done." He set the bottle onto the table and sat down in the other chair, crossing his legs. "Where it just so happens that some of the most influential and wealthy citizens in this town will also be visiting tonight, by the way . . ."

Wickworth studied the man opposite him with a smile that grew each second.

"You know . . . I still can't decide whether you really are the most brilliant confidence man I've ever worked with. . . ." He reached out to take his glass. "Or whether you are simply a madman." He raised the drink to the air. "Here's to you, Chris Barns. If that is even your real name."

Mr. Barns made no comment, he just raised his own glass, returning the smile.

* * *

Nine o'clock in the evening, a rider came into the yard of the Ponderosa ranch. Hearing the noise outside, Hoss and Joe looked up from their cribbage game while Ben laid his book across his lap. The father spent the next few minutes staring down the front door until the iron latch clicked. Adam came into the house, closing the door quietly behind him. He said nothing to his family, he didn't even look over at them. Joe and Hoss kept glancing between their older brother and their father—both of them wondering if there was about to be one of those fiery Pa-Adam-arguments. Four years had passed since the last one.

It took decidedly longer than usual for Adam to rid himself of his gun belt and hat, and when he finally walked over to the sitting room and stopped in front of his father's chair, Ben's expression was tight, almost hard. Within a second of taking in Adam's appearance though, the harshness lessened in the older man's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Adam said, not meeting his father's gaze. "I shouldn't have left like that and stayed away for so long. I'll make sure that I catch up on my work tomorrow."

Ben shifted in his chair. "Where were you all day, Adam?"

"I went for a long ride." Closing his eyes, Adam exhaled deeply. "A very long one."

Joe and Hoss focused on their father as he continued to scrutinize their older brother. After a moment of silence, Ben placed his book on the table and put both hands on the chair's armrests to push himself up.

"Then you haven't had any supper. There's a plate in—"

"No thanks. I'm not hungry. Just tired."

Ben rose anyway as his son stepped back and walked around the settee, heading in the direction of the stairs.

"Listen Adam, whatever has happen—"

"Don't, Pa." Adam stopped, but didn't turn. "Not now."

The two younger brothers saw their father's mouth fall closed. Then, there was no other sound in the house than the creaking staircase as the heavy steps became fainter and fainter.


	22. Chapter 22

_Author's Notes_

 _It's so thrilling to hear that you guys are enjoying the story, especially with the sudden dramatic turn things have taken. I'll try not to take too long with more chapters and the next one will be a long one. Thank you for reviewing, you are all so kind._

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

At dawn the next morning, Ben was standing in front of the long mirror in his room as he shrugged on his vest. He regarded the stubble on his cheeks with a look of displeasure but decided to forgo the shave today. There were more pressing matters at hand. As soon as he came out of his bedroom, a familiar noise from downstairs made him hurry down the hall. He knew his son very well indeed.

"Hold up!" he called as he got to the top of the staircase. "Just a minute, I want to talk to you."

Adam was literally halfway out the front door when his forward motion came to a halt. He took a step backwards and pushed the door closed again, turning around to face his father who was briskly descending the stairs. Listlessly, he dropped his saddlebags onto the dresser, next to his brothers' gun-belts.

Ben walked straight over to him and stopped, folding his arms across his chest. "All right, where are you rushing off to at this time?"

"Joe spent hours yesterday working on that east fence-line alone," Adam replied evenly, "it's only fair that I finish it up and if I leave now I can get it done by this afternoon. I want to go into town later."

"Adam, the sun is barely up. Nothing is going to be solved by you running off alone for another whole day." Ben's eyes softened. "Talk to me, son. What's going on between you and Madeline?"

"I don't know Pa," Adam said in a flat tone. "That's why I need to go into town again today. To figure it out."

Biting his tongue, Ben tipped his head sideways. As much as he loved his oldest boy, this one certainly had a very unique way of frustrating the people who cared about him. He wondered briefly if Adam had any idea about how many of the white hairs on his father's head he was responsible for. Between him and little Joe, it was probably a tie. Then again, Ben pondered, his hair had been greying before that little baby with the chestnut curls ever showed up . . .

Seeing his son's typical, guarded expression in place, the father decided that advancing with caution was the best strategy.

"All right," he said, "and would it hurt to sit down for five minutes with me and have some coffee? Perhaps then, we can also make sure that you have some proper food packed with you for the long day you plan to spend out on the range. Unless you were intending to skip breakfast AND lunch . . .?"

Adam's face remained completely neutral for several seconds. Then the resolve appeared to seep out of him and his posture sagged. He trudged past his father, towards the dining table and as Ben followed, he couldn't resist placing a hand on his back. It wasn't shrugged away.

* * *

Madeline forced herself to move faster, her skirt whisking along the floorboards. She glanced back up the street behind her just as she rounded the corner of the bank and as a result—only narrowly avoided colliding with a woman going in the opposite direction.

"Oh, please excuse me," she said and went around the lady, continuing down the boardwalk. Her steps slowed down, and she paused outside Baxter's General Store, resting the back of her hand against her burning cheek. She threw another look over her shoulder. _He was gone_. The sigh of relief stayed lodged somewhere in her chest though. She couldn't relax until she was home once again in her uncle's house. Pulling both of her white gloves more firmly up to her wrists, she only managed to walk another few feet before a voice hollered to her from the other side of the street. She did a start of surprise and almost slipped right outside the general store.

"Madeline, wait a minute!"

Maisy McCoy waved and scurried across the street, stopping on the way to let a surrey pass her.

"I'm so delighted that I saw you, Madeline." The younger woman scooted up onto the boardwalk. "I feel like it has been such a long time since we had a chat!"

"Hello Maisy," Madeline said and produced a smile that she hoped looked half-real. "Yes, I have been quite busy lately. I've just come from the restaurant and was on my way home. I hope you are well?"

"Yes, I am, thank you. Well, you've probably heard that Joe and I are no longer an item."

"Oh, I am very sorry . . . I wasn't aware . . ."

"That's all right!" Maisy's grin stretched between her freckled cheeks. "I suppose I always knew it would go this way, after all, he _is_ little Joe Cartwright. Actually, taming any of those three brothers would probably be a challenge for most women. Though from what I hear, you are doing quite well with Adam? . . . Madeline?"

Madeline had only heard the first half of Maisy's words before her attention became fixed on a man standing a little further down the street—in the direction she'd come from. He was by the boardwalk railing outside the barber's shop, watching her. It wasn't the same man who'd followed her minutes ago when she'd left the restaurant. Nor was it the man she'd seen observing her uncle's house early that morning when she'd left to go to work.

This one gave an almost imperceptible nod which made Madeline turn to Maisy in one swift movement.

"I am terribly sorry Maisy, but I just remembered—there is something I must see to at home."

She moved to go past the younger woman, averting her eyes.

"But wait, are you coming to the meeting this evening?"

Madeline hesitated and fidgeted with her gloves, the cloth sticking uncomfortably to her clammy palms.

"I'm afraid that I will be kept busy the rest of the day. I have a few things to attend to." She tried for another quick smile when she faced the girl. "Have a pleasant afternoon Maisy, and please, give my regards to the other ladies."

"Yes . . . of course, Madeline."

Carrying on along the street, Madeline didn't have to look behind her this time to know that her new stalker was right on her tail. _Get home, just get home._ The rapid thumping in her breast began to ease when her uncle's house appeared ahead and the minute she got close enough, she grabbed at the porch railing for support. She hastened up the stairs, fumbling with the silk purse to get out her house key—not daring to look back at the street again. Her trembling fingers made the job of unlocking the door very difficult and when the lock finally clicked, she wobbled inside the house, her eyes closing as the door did. Struggling with the iron latch for a few seconds, she slid the bolt sideways, locking the world outside away from her. Without warning, a surge of dizziness hit her and she leaned against the door, not sure if her legs would be able to keep her upright any longer. The throbbing in her ears was the only sound she was aware of.

God, how to breathe? Shallow gasps were suddenly all she could manage and she must have been making a dreadful wheezing noise, only she couldn't really hear it.

After some time—which could have been five minutes as well as half an hour for all she knew—she gathered her senses and checked the door again. Then she slowly walked down the hall, removing her bonnet along the way. _Sit down_ , that was what she needed to do now—sit down with a cup of tea. She felt cold and so very tired.

When she came to the kitchen doorway, a choked cry broke past her lips and a chill rushed through her, turning her blood to ice. He was there. Ray's face was at the window of the backdoor. Staring and waiting.

A wild thought occurred to her. What if she didn't let him in? What if she just ran upstairs and locked herself in her room and waited for him to go away? Left this nightmare to play out without her . . . If he broke in, perhaps someone would see him? Surely, someone would stop him?

But no matter how much she wished for those things, she knew that none of the neighboring houses had a clear view of the small back garden. No one could see across the white, close boarded fence except for maybe the children who sometimes crawled Mrs. Pickard's apple tree. And anyway, she couldn't risk going up against Ray because he would go after Adam. And she had to keep that from happening.

Looking at her husband's expression now, it was plain to see that he was losing his patience. She went across the room and although it felt gravely wrong to be letting this man inside, she unlocked the door and opened it.

"That was about time," he said as he entered the kitchen. "I suggest you don't keep me waiting that long again. With our precarious situation here, you'd do well not to test me."

She closed the door as Ray ambled over to the table and sat down in one of the chairs, resting one leg across his other knee. They were both quiet—him sitting, her standing—watching each other.

Then he spoke in a sly voice. "Well? Don't you want to hear about my day, _dear wife_?"

Madeline sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a rare heat blossom inside her. She strode over to the table with a bit of heavy stomp in her gait, and put down her bonnet with a thud.

"No. I do not care to hear about it."

He gave her a strained smile.

"Sit down, please."

When she didn't move, Ray bent forward in his seat.

"Sit down," he repeated, this time without the smile, "or I will make you."

She held his eyes for another dangerous second, then lowered herself graciously into the chair opposite him, turning her side to him.

"I like a woman with a little spirit, Madeline. But not too much. As I've told you before—watch that defiant streak of yours. It's most unbecoming."

Madeline didn't say anything, she just sat there with her back straight and her gaze directed out towards the kitchen.

"Now, since you don't want to talk about my day, I think that we should discuss yours," Ray said pleasantly and sat back in his chair again. "Remember what I said about acting normally to avoid rousing suspicion? You're nervous. And it's showing."

"How do you expect me not to be nervous when I am being watched by strange men every moment?!"

"I told you to watch it!" His fist slammed down onto the tabletop, making her jump in her seat. "And I have learned from experience Madeline, that you _need_ watching every moment!"

There was a short silence and Madeline continued to stare out into the room as a slight tremor ran across her shoulders.

"Who was the little redhead you spoke with?"

"She is just a young girl, Ray. I said nothing about you."

"You said nothing, hmm? And yesterday, you didn't tell your cowboy anything about me either?"

"You were there watching, weren't you?" She looked down at her lap. "I only told him to stay away from here. You saw him ride off . . ."

"Yes, he did seem rather . . . troubled." Ray smiled, eyeing his wife from the side. "He probably won't be back anytime soon. I imagine there must be cows to chase and dirt to roll around in—isn't that what men do out here? These common cowboys?"

His tone and manner grew in intensity with each word and she stayed completely still.

"Ah, except he isn't . . . just a common cowboy . . . is he, Madeline?"

Her eyelids fell shut.

"You neglected to tell me that he is a soldier of the Union. A Union _captain._ "

"Not anymore. He left the military," she said, facing her husband as her chin tilted up. "Adam didn't destroy your company, Ray. He hasn't done anything to you."

"They ruined me, Madeline!" His voice rose up and he half-lurched across the table towards her. "And while I was forced to flee the burning embers of my estate, you were here, sharing the bed of a damn Yankee captain!"

"No!" she exclaimed, pressing herself backwards in the chair to get away from him, "I-I told you, I never—"

They both stiffened at the sound of sudden knocking on the front door. Madeline's whole face went white and she laid a hand on the table to steady herself because her heart was stumbling.

"He's a mighty persistent fellow, isn't he?" Ray growled and shot out of his chair. He moved to the doorway and stuck his head out into the hall. When a slightly louder round of knocks boomed down the hallway, he looked back at Madeline.

"Could it be anyone else than him? Answer me!" he hissed.

Unable to speak, she quickly shook her head, covering her open mouth with her other hand.

"Well, you better hope that he takes the hint and leaves. In any case, I have a man out front too."

Madeline dropped her hand and she tried to stand up even though the room was now whirling around her.

"He . . . he won't shoot him, will he?"

"Is your lover the door-kicking type? If so, I wouldn't count on him being around for much longer."

When the knocking started up again, Madeline gasped, staggering across the floor to where Ray was.

"Please let me open the door, I will send him away!" Ray grasped her arms violently, but she hardly even felt it. "I will make sure he doesn't come back, please, just let me talk with him before something happens!"

"Shut up! You aren't going anywhere, you're not that good an actress."

He pushed her head against his chest to silence her as the knocking continued. She fought to get free, but he held her solidly, allowing her only tiny breaths of air until she was at the point of dangling in his arms. There was no telling how long it all lasted but eventually, no more knocks came. And there had been no sound of gunfire.

With gritted teeth, Ray pulled his wife up by her elbows and dragged her across the floor, throwing her down into the chair he had been in before.

"I am trying, Madeline—by God I'm trying!"

He knelt down in front of her, holding onto her shoulders when she almost toppled out of the chair.

"I am willing to forgive you your transgressions. When we leave this place to start a new life, I'll even consider how to be a more tolerant husband to you."

With a suddenly gentle motion, he reached up to brush the damp curls from her face.

"But I swear, if you don't do exactly as I tell you to while we're here in Virginia City, I will not be responsible for the consequences. You understand?" He gave her a little shake. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand . . ." she whispered, her eyes dazed and glassy as she swayed from side to side.

* * *

It was quiet around the dining table that evening at the Ponderosa Ranch. The first time around, Hoss had cleared his plate with about half of his usual enthusiasm, but he was finding it very difficult to get through his second helping. He glanced over at his older brother who'd been sitting in the exact same way for the last five minutes. Staring down at his plate, leaning his cheek on his fist. Hoss had never thought about it before, but as he considered Adam's plate, he realized how different the three brothers were in how they dealt with their food when something was bothering them.

Little Joe's plates were always chaotic and messy, with gravy smeared all the way to the lip of the dishware and maimed vegetables scattered everywhere else. It was practically impossible to guess what meal had actually been served when looking at Joe's abandoned supper platters.

Adam on the other hand—when his mind was working through deep problems, it seemed that he needed to make structure and order around him rather than chaos. Over the years, his family had witnessed the constructions of many intriguing creations at the supper table—all made from nothing else than what Hop Sing had prepared. It was amazing what a man could do with mashed potatoes and green peas.

And as for Hoss . . . well, he tended to eat up regardless of what his mood was like. As far as he was concerned, having an empty stomach would only add to a man's troubles.

Hoss' contemplating was interrupted when Adam suddenly set down his cutlery on his plate, destroying the dam of mashed potatoes as a wave of green rolled out.

"I'm gonna look over those accounts in my room, Pa."

Rising from the table, he looked at his family.

"Goodnight."

They all hummed "goodnight" back at him, although Hoss and Joe both expected their father to protest their brother's departure. But their pa didn't make another sound and Adam went to retrieve some paperwork by the alcove before disappearing up the stairs.

The screeching of knives and forks resumed around the dining table and went on for a minute or so, until Hoss put down his cutlery.

"I sure hate to see 'im so sad . . ."

Ben wiped his mouth with a napkin, his face serious.

"We all do, Hoss. But right now I just don't see that there's anything we can do about it."

"Maybe the three of us should go on a hunting trip this weekend?" Joe asked tentatively. "Get him away for a while . . . if you can spare us, Pa?"

"I thought you had plans on Sunday, son?"

Hoss noticed the way his father's mouth curved up to the side when Joe returned his gaze to his plate.

"Well yea, but . . . there'll be other dances . . ."

Folding his napkin neatly, Ben studied his sons with pride and affection.

"It's very nice of you boys to be thinking of your brother. But I doubt that Adam would leave for a few days, even if it's the best thing for him. He'll want to be here and wait to hear from Madeline."

"See, that's what I don't get, Pa," Hoss interjected. "Why don't she wanna talk to him all of a sudden?"

"I don't know."

Ben clasped his hands together by his chin. "Adam told me part of what she'd written in that letter and by the sounds of it, she needs some time to herself. Of course, your brother has convinced _himself_ that things will end in the worst way possible and that she doesn't want to be with him at all anymore. I tried explaining to him that maybe she just needs a little space for a few days but . . ." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"But Pa, she still loves him, don't you think?"

Facing his youngest, Ben couldn't help but expel a throaty chuckle.

"Oh yes, she loves him all right. There's no question about that. I just wish he could see it as clearly as we do."

"I tell ya, the thing that worries me is . . . he's gotten a lot better with havin' Madeline around and"—Hoss' bulky shoulders sank even lower—"I just don't wanna see 'im get all down again."

"I know, that worries me too," Ben said and his eyes turned somber. "But we can't go blaming Madeline for Adam's dependence on her. And now that we know a bit of what she has been through and with all the changes and new things going on in her life, her request for a little time isn't exactly an unreasonable one."

"No . . . when you put it that way, I guess it ain't."

"But I do wish that she'd talk to him at least. Just to reassure him. Before he spirals into one of those brooding moods again."

Ben's words hung on a glum note and Hoss and Joe saw that his attention had landed on Adam's barely touched plate.

"Aaw, don't you worry none." Hoss made an effort to tuck into his second helping once again. "We'll keep an eye on older brother, won't we Joe?"

"Sure we will, he'll be all right," Joe chimed in.

The flood of worry ebbed out of him, leaving Ben's face more relaxed as he looked to his two sons with a smile.

The three Cartwrights spoke of lighter subjects the rest of the evening and even enjoyed a few games of cards together by the fireplace. However, hours later—during the night—they were all aware of the light shining out into the hall from under Adam's door.


	23. Chapter 23

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi everyone!_

 _This next part of the story has been the most challenging to write so far. Things are about to get very tense! This was originally one looong chapter that I split up into two sections... BUT_ — _I will be posting both parts straight after each other! So, as you all read, there's a little break between the two—a chance to get a coffee or tea refill, perhaps :)_

 _Thank you all again, members and guests, for continuing to review, I love reading your thoughts!_

* * *

 **Chapter 23**

As the next few days went by, Madeline and Adam were locked in their own private struggles.

Madeline only left her uncle's house to go to the restaurant but kept to herself when she was there. She went around the kitchen and did her work, baking breads and cakes, but even though she was physically present, her mind was elsewhere. The other cooks and waiters left her alone—everyone thinking that she and Adam had fallen out. It explained his sudden absence and the fact that she was quiet and distant, not engaging with the customers as she normally would.

The gossip ran rampant about the doctor's niece and the Cartwright and soon the latest rumors had spread all over town. There were many versions of the lover's quarrel that had apparently taken place between the two, but no one confronted Madeline directly about it. Sally did express her concern a few times by commenting on the sickly pallor that had settled on the younger woman's face but then she backed off and Madeline was relieved. She knew that by talking to anyone, she might inadvertently be putting them in danger. Those were Ray's rules. And she didn't want anybody to get hurt.

So, she went about her days as usual, but showed no outward signs of emotion. She felt like an empty shell—acting polite and proper as always but the warmth and the light had left her, as if the very life had been drained out of her. She was like a beautiful ghost; her skin had turned whiter, ivory-pale like moonbeams, and she walked around looking so delicate, so fair—it seemed like the tiniest touch could make her shatter—her ghostly fragility haunting those around her. All traces of that genuine, brilliant smile had disappeared from her face, taking the brightness with it. And her eyes had become dull as though the natural sparkle had been clouded over. She was empty and so was her presence.

When she came home from work, she dreaded Ray's visits, but he checked up on her every afternoon without fail. It became a sort of surreal routine; they would sit in the kitchen together and he would talk while she remained quiet, looking at anything else in the room other than him and only speaking when he demanded it of her. Part of her wondered at the restraint he was actually showing. Such behavior from her side would not have been tolerated a year ago in Georgia. Not without punishment. Something else puzzled her too. He was alone with her in a house with four bedrooms, yet he hadn't tried so much as once to leave the kitchen. Even when she wasn't facing him, she knew it whenever _that_ _look_ came over him. She knew exactly what he was thinking as she felt his eyes trail down her body, and she would sit in her chair with a sickening feeling spreading in her gut—expecting him to grab her and force her down the hall and up the staircase at any second. Only he didn't. He just watched her quietly, and she was sure he was smiling at those moments. Because they both knew that should he decide to do _that,_ there would be absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. He let the minutes stretch out and her panic rise, but ultimately, he would always just start talking again. And she was all too aware that it was yet another way he'd found of tormenting her.

He talked a lot about his plans of where they would go once he had the money for them to travel and start over again. She had the sense that this so-called business he was involved in wasn't the legal kind, but she didn't ask him about it. He would never tell her anyway. He mentioned something about going to Canada, but Madeline didn't really take it in. Ray's words floated around somewhere far away while in her mind, she was with Adam. She kept him there and in her heart, along with her love for him. Where he was safe. In the one place Ray Bradshaw couldn't control.

Meanwhile, Adam stayed on the Ponderosa though it took all his will-power to stop himself from going into town. After Wednesday, where he'd gone to Paul's house and Madeline hadn't opened the door to him, he'd decided to keep his distance like she'd asked of him. He tried to busy himself with work, but his thoughts were on her at all times. The consequence of that was, that he began to make mistakes. One day, he forgot to secure the corral gate, which several audacious steers took advantage of. On another occasion, he misplaced a number of tools in the newly tidied tool shed and that sent him and his brothers on a thirty-minute hunt for the missing equipment which was eventually found by Joe at the forge. They were clumsy mistakes—and thankfully they were pretty harmless—but it still frustrated him, and Adam pushed himself harder, taking on more work and allowing himself fewer breaks.

His family looked on in complete helplessness. He'd shut them out again and paid little mind to their pleas for him to slow down. When the three brothers came home from being out on the range, Adam retreated to his room immediately after supper which he hardly touched in the evenings.

Ben was trying to be patient with him, but his concern increased, and he was surprised, even a little shocked at just how badly Adam was taking the whole thing with Madeline. It seemed like a month of steady progress had been undone in just a few days and although he made an effort to remain strong for his two other sons, it unnerved the father more than he dared admit to them. Or to himself. At times, Adam seemed just as depressed as when he'd first come home from the war and Ben was fretting about how this setback might affect not only his oldest son but the whole family. Joe and Hoss were deeply affected by their brother's mood and they were very disappointed when he refused to go with them to the big August dance on Sunday afternoon.

There was no hiding the fact that the young man's nightmares had returned to plague him anew. While he kept quiet about it, the dark circles under his eyes said everything for him. By Monday, there was no evidence of the long hours he'd spent every day working in the burning heat. Instead, Adam looked fatigued and drawn as if some sickness had kept him cooped up inside for a week.

At that point, Ben was seriously considering going to see Madeline. Although he hated to interfere in their business, he held onto the belief that she would want to know about Adam's deteriorating state. After all, she loved him, Ben was sure of that. With Paul still out of town, he also felt a certain responsibility for his friend's niece and he worried about her too. He hadn't seen Madeline since that day of revelations when Paul had informed him of her marriage, and he was convinced that whatever had made her withdraw so suddenly from Adam, was connected to her past and perhaps some present insecurities.

He had actually been to town on Friday the previous week to take care of some bank matters and he'd stopped by Roy Coffee. Like most folks, the sheriff had overheard some of the rumors about Madeline and Adam and he said that he'd only seen her once, heading for Sally's restaurant, but he'd gotten the impression she was in a rush. Roy had seemed a little apologetic that he hadn't taken the time to go and visit her since she was on her own, but Ben knew how busy the sheriff had been and still was with all the newcomers in town. A lot of men were out of work and had too much time on their hands which kept Roy and his jail more occupied than he would have liked. Ben had very nearly gone by to visit Madeline himself that day, but in the end he'd decided that butting in and going behind Adam's back probably wasn't the best course of action.

Still, that was three days ago and on Monday afternoon as Ben sat behind his desk considering his options, it was one simple fact that made the decision for him. Adam had gotten worse—a lot worse over the last three days. And there was no indication that things would improve until he'd talked with Madeline again.

Ben was actually on his way outside to saddle up Buck, when Adam came down the stairs, announcing that he was going into town. The father tried not to let his relief show too much and whether Adam noticed it or not, he didn't comment on it in either case. The cautious offer to accompany his son was firmly declined, but Ben didn't mind that much. As long as Adam went to see Madeline and got her talking, things would start to get better again. At least he prayed they would.

* * *

Seven o'clock in the evening, Adam arrived in Virginia City—six days since he'd last seen Madeline. He headed straight for Paul's house, offering only small nods in return for the acquaintances who greeted him on the way. He disregarded everyone else.

Pulling up outside the doc's house, Adam stayed in the saddle for a full minute. He looked down at himself and wiped the worst of the trail dust off his black shirt. It was one of the shirts that Madeline had mended for him. The buttons, sown neatly onto the cuffs, still had a shine to them.

His dismount was slow and without its usual grace and as he climbed the porch stairs, he dragged a hand down his cheek, releasing a sigh when he felt the coarseness of heavy stubble after several days without shaving. It probably took another minute of standing at the front door before he actually got himself to knock on it. And then, only a few seconds were needed to deplete the hope that had managed to build up inside him over the last two hours. He knocked again. And the same silence met him. He knocked harder and for longer—even tried the door handle twice. But the door remained closed. Mocking him.

"Madeline . . .?"

On some level, he knew that he'd said her name so quietly that she would never have heard him unless she was literally standing just on the other side of that door. He rested a palm against the wood, closing his heavy eyelids for a moment—trying to sense her, feel her. But there was nothing. Just plain, smooth wood under his hand.

He turned back around and looked out at the street. The sunshine had lost its brightness and the colors of the buildings were softer. Supper smells from all directions floated through the air, but didn't tempt him in the slightest. He plodded back down the stairs, leaning a hand on the porch rail and Sport walked over to meet him. The horse hadn't been tied to the hitching post, but even that didn't register with Adam. He stroked Sport's neck, oblivious to the people whispering about him as they strolled on down the street.

When he did mount up again, Sport set off back up the road, unwilling to wait for his master to make a decision with the weird mood he was in. It wasn't until they came to the Bucket of Blood that Adam pulled on the reins. An ordinary Monday evening, and the establishment was already swamped with a crowd of people and horses outside. The chestnut tossed his head a few times but complied with his master's wishes and crossed the street, moving closer to the piano music and rumbling laughter.

xXXx

Madeline walked down the boardwalk opposite the Bucket of Blood only five minutes later. She was absorbed in her own thoughts and went right past the saloon without even glancing up. If she had, it probably would have been difficult to spot Sport by the crowded hitching rail anyway.

She had stayed at work late to help Sally out with the preparations for a special dinner party that was being held this evening at the restaurant. It had been her natural instinct to offer her help, but now as she was heading home, the worry that Ray would be angry with her made her pulse speed up. She gathered her checkered blue skirt and picked up the pace, ignoring the constant shadow trailing behind her.

At her uncle's home everything seemed peaceful and she slowed down while going up the stairs to the porch. Once inside the house, she went through her now set cycle of checking—then rechecking—the lock and door handle on the front door before going through the same procedure with the back door. Afterwards, she stayed in the kitchen, waiting for Ray to show up. She got the stove going to boil some water for making tea. Her appetite had been nonexistent the last few days, but she'd had nothing since early morning and knew that she needed to eat a little something at least.

She was just getting out a bit of bread and honey when there was a sudden noise behind her. Immediately, she looked to the back door, but Ray wasn't there. Her eyes darted frantically around the kitchen, searching for the source of the sound and then it dawned on her that it was coming from the foyer. It was coming from the front door.

In a split second, a hundred thoughts of who's, how's and why's shot through her head and she was totally paralyzed by it all. Hearing the front door open smoothly, however, effectively narrowed down the possible who's. All sense of feeling had left her legs as she crossed the floor to the kitchen doorway, holding a hand to her belly—pressing against the hard knots within as she peeked out into the hallway.

". . . Uncle Paul!"

Paul was just stuffing his house key in his vest pocket, when he broke into a broad smile of open delight.

"Hello my Belle! Yes, indeed, it is I."

He set down his carpet bag in the middle of the foyer and briskly strode down the hall to her.

"Well, what must an uncle do to get a welcome home hug?"

He put his arms around her, but she was so flabbergasted by his presence that she barely responded to the embrace.

"I . . . I don't understand," she said as he drew back, "you weren't due back until the weekend . . ."

"Yes well, I was there for the main part of the conference and it was fascinating, truly, it was. But I ah . . . I simply felt that I'd had my fill of the big city. So, I thought I'd surprise you. I took the night stages."

"Oh . . ."

He gave her a curious look-over, but she just stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. He was really here. Suddenly, it was as if something came loose inside her and a wave of intermingling emotions rolled through her body. She moved forward and without thinking about anything else, her arms promptly looped around him.

"I am so happy that you're home."

His hands settled on her back again and she savored his comforting scent, feeling the soft fabric of his vest against her cheek.

"Madeline, is everything all right?"

With that question, the brutal reality ripped her back from her short-lived relief. She was struck by a moment of terrifying clarity as she realized just how complicated and dangerous the situation had now gotten with her uncle's early return.

"Yes, I . . ." She pulled away, but kept her face pointed to the floor. "I was just surprised and . . . things are fine, Uncle, but I have missed you."

She'd given herself enough time to school her features and when she looked up at him, managed a small smile. Paul watched her with a down-turned mouth, but she noticed the fine lines by his eyes and took advantage of it.

"You must be tired from your trip. Come into the kitchen and sit down." She went back through the doorway, hearing him follow her. "Are you hungry? I have water boiling, I can make you some coffee?"

"No, not hungry, but a cup of coffee sounds like just the thing for me."

She walked to the stove and peering over at him through her lashes, she saw him sink down in one of the chairs. He rubbed two fists against his eyes, then surveyed the kitchen.

"Well, at least he hasn't moved in during my absence, by the look of things."

Madeline's hands stilled by the pot of water and filled with apprehension, she turned back towards her uncle.

"What . . . what do you mean? Who hasn't moved in?"

" _Who_?" Paul scoffed, "Why Adam, of course! I was half expecting my house to be infiltrated by that Cartwright by the time I got—"

His speech came to an abrupt end when he focused on her face and he jumped from the chair. "Madeline! Are you ill?"

She quickly lowered her head. She knew that she didn't look her usual self, but she hadn't taken into account that her uncle hadn't seen her in a week and judging by his reaction, her appearance must have changed quite a bit in that time. The shadowed hallway had probably hidden the worst of her paleness but there was no escaping the soft evening light shining in through the kitchen window.

"No, I am all right," she said as he rushed over to stand in front of her, "I am just a little tired. The restaurant has been busy lately."

"Let me remind you just who you're talking to here." He took hold of her hand. "Now, out with it. What did he do this time?"

"Oh, Uncle Paul, he didn't do anything. Adam has done nothing wrong at all."

"Come now, clearly, something's up. You look like you have a world of trouble on your mind. And I have an inkling that Adam Cartwright is responsible for at least part of it."

Her thoughts were racing as she nibbled on her lip. Everything was bursting inside her, it wanted out, it wanted to be told. She needed help—so desperately. But the fact of the matter was, that the minute she said anything about her husband, she would be breaking the rules. The chances were that her uncle would get hurt, she might even be signing his death warrant by telling him. As it was now, it would be hard enough convincing Ray that she hadn't told her uncle anything. She had no doubt that he was watching the house this very instant, and that he knew about Doctor Martin's arrival in Virginia City. He might even be right outside the back door just a few feet away, listening . . .

If her uncle left this house, intending to see Sheriff Coffee . . . No, she couldn't tell him, it was too risky right now. But she needed to give him something, that much was clear.

"I have come to a decision . . ." Each word was said with slow emphasis as she took a careful half-step backwards. "I need some time to myself, without Adam. That is . . . I do not wish to be with him. At least not right now."

A flash of uncertainty entered Paul's narrowed eyes. He eventually looked away from her and that was something that didn't happen often.

"I'm not quite sure that I . . . understand." He released her hand with a squeeze. "What exactly do you mean that you . . . don't wish to be with him?"

"It's hard to explain, I just . . . I feel that things have been moving very fast and that I need—" she hesitated and her mouth was so dry, she had to moisten her lips to continue. "Time. I need time to sort through all the things in my mind and"—her hand came up to rest against her chest—"in here."

"I see . . . well, I'm sure that Adam would be understanding of that and willing to slow things down a bit."

"Uncle Paul, I have asked Adam not to come by here to visit me at all. I felt it was best that we didn't see each other for a while."

Paul gawked at her for several seconds. Then he winced and scratched an earlobe.

"I imagine that he was less understanding of that part."

"Yes, I am afraid he was . . . quite upset by it."

"How did all this—" The doctor cut himself off, deciding on another question instead. "When did you last see him?"

"On Tuesday last week . . ."

As Paul watched her, well-defined wrinkles emerged, extending across the expanse of his forehead.

"Are you _sure_ that this is what you want? You really don't look well, Little Belle . . ."

"It's for the best. For now, it is," she said, trying to keep the heartbreak out of her voice. "Please, let's not talk of it anymore now, you have been traveling all day. Let me get you that coffee."

She turned back to the stove, hoping that it would be enough. With every second he remained standing behind her, it seemed that her facade got closer to crumbling. She sensed him heave a big breath and her nails dug sharply into her palms.

"We will leave it for now then, but only for now, Madeline. I want you to sit down and rest. Just let me get cleaned up a bit and put my bag upstairs. I'll see you in the sitting room in a few minutes."

She didn't trust herself to reply, and when his reluctant footsteps traipsed across the floorboards and out into the hall, her hands dropped to the workbench as she bent forwards. Only a brief moment later, her head shot back up when there was a tiny noise, this time, by the kitchen's back door. She looked over at the empty doorway to the hall, then rushed to the back door, unlocking and opening it quietly ajar.

"Ray, I didn't tell him anything, you must believe me!" she whispered urgently.

"You have just five seconds to convince me of that."

A wry sneer graced his mouth and he pressed closer to the door. "I was out here the whole time, you told him _something,_ don't lie now."

"He knew that something was wrong, but I only told him about the situation with Adam! I didn't say anything about you, if you were out here, you must know that . . ."

She held onto the door, her features tightening in distress when Ray let out a hushed curse and half-twisted around to the backyard.

"Well," he finally mumbled, "your uncle's untimely arrival certainly complicates things."

"Ray please, this is madness! It is only a matter of time before somebody finds out." She glanced behind her but everything was quiet in the house. "My uncle knows me so well . . . if you leave now, I won't say anything for a few days, I promise. You can go on to start a new life and I can stay here, where I want to be."

"No. I am still in control of this situation." He stared at seemingly nothing with widening pupils, stroking his mustache. "The business my associates and I have to conduct here is taking longer than expected, we've run into some complications . . . but once it's over, we will have the money to leave here, start over." He faced her again. "And you and I _will_ be leaving together."

"No, I . . . no!" she breathed, her cheeks suddenly growing hot. "Don't you understand that you don't have a chance? I know that you are planning to do something illegal—if I revealed that you are here, what you are doing, you would be up against the Cartwrights, all their friends, the sheriff—everyone! However many men you have working for you, it would never be enough!" She finished in a hissing whisper. "You can't win, Ray."

His lips parted in what was perhaps supposed to be a smile, but something was terribly wrong with it.

"You are the one who doesn't seem to understand, Madeline. I wouldn't have enough men to win, no. But I promise you this . . ." His face neared hers and he spoke with a chilling calmness. "I _would_ have enough to get to that Yankee captain and your uncle. And after that, I would go after as many other people you hold dear as I possibly could before it was over for me. Tell me, do you dare risk that?"

The blue had almost gone from his irises because they had been taken over by his pupils now, by blackness. She saw her own horrifying realization reflected in that black sheen as it hit her. His face relaxed into a satisfied smile and he touched her hair, stroking it back.

"You will carry on as you have done until now. The only difference is that your uncle will be here with you too. Let him go about his work, fill him with whatever lies you must. Just convince him that the only problem you have is with that Cartwright. There are plenty of gossipers around town who will feed that story. Bear in mind that the closer you are to _anyone_ , the more danger you'll be putting them in."

He lowered his hand from her head and she clung to the door, her fingers white as she clutched the door handle.

"And remember . . . I'll be watching you. Every second."

The ends of his mustache curved up and she recognized that this smile was both a promise and a threat. Then he moved down from the door step and crept along the picket fence around the side of the house.

Everything was somewhat hazy as Madeline closed the door and turned back to the kitchen. Her eyes were vacant, lifeless as a doll's. The pot with water was boiling over. It was making a mess on the stove. Her uncle would be down soon—he'd want his coffee.

Tears would solve none of those things.

And so, she allowed none to fall. She walked towards the stove, reaching up a hand to brush away her husband's lingering touch.


	24. Chapter 24

_Author's Notes_

 _Here we go, the next part as promised, carrying on almost straight after the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy it._

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

Paul awoke with a jolt. He sat straight up in the bed and stared out into the darkness, trying to comprehend his surroundings. It was familiar. The layout of the room, the bed, the linen. Yes, he knew it all.

 _Ah . . . home again. All well and good. Now, let me sleep._

He'd just fallen back against the pillows when a thunderous pounding rattled his sleepy brain.

 _What in the world?_

Sitting back up, he looked around himself.

 _Surely it isn't morning? Well no . . . everything is dark._

His whole body bounced on the bed when another loud thumping disrupted the quiet of the bedroom.

 _I'll be . . ._

He got up off the bed, stuck his feet into his velvet slippers and started rummaging around the room in only a nightshirt as he searched for his robe. It occurred to him that lighting the lamp on his nightstand would aid him greatly in his quest, but unfortunately, he managed to stub his toe against the dresser first. His muted listing of profanities was muffled by more booming commotion from downstairs—this time accompanied by what sounded like a distorted voice.

 _All right, all right I'm on my way!_

Holding the now lit oil lamp, he exited the bedroom while tying his robe with one hand and headed for the staircase. He halted at the top of the stairs, trying to understand what he was seeing in the foyer just below. Madeline was barefoot, dressed in a light blue robe and leaning back against the front door with both arms behind her. She looked up at him, her hair hanging about her like a veil of rich brown, her eyes huge and bulging.

"It's Adam . . ."

Her quiet words made Paul's eyebrows climb two inches up towards his receding hairline. A voice from outside the house broke his stupor.

"Hello? Madeline? It's uh, me . . . I'm . . . hello?"

The door received another healthy beating which made Madeline flinch and step away as Paul hastened down the stairs. He stopped next to his niece while she watched the door anxiously.

"May I ask . . . what is he doing here at—" The doctor squinted at the grandfather clock to his right, "— at a quarter past three o'clock at night?"

"I don't know, uncle Paul," Madeline replied in a thin voice. "I think that he . . . that he might be—"

She was interrupted by a loud crash outside which was followed by a muttered curse from the Cartwright. His voice was pitched lower when he spoke again from the other side of the door.

"Madeline? I just . . . I just want to talk. And the porch thing . . . the swing is . . . yea, that's uh . . . hello?"

He knocked again, as loud as the other times and Paul ran a hand down the side of his head.

 _I am too old for this sort of thing._

Handing the lamp to his niece in a terse motion, he went to the door when she suddenly gripped him by the elbow. He faced her, bewildered.

"Madeline, we can't just leave him out there to sleep it off on my front porch," Paul said, throwing his free arm out to the side. "Think of my reputation! And his own, for that matter . . ."

Her lips clamped together, and she gave him an almost pleading look before warily letting go of his arm. Unsure of what to make of that, Paul went to unlock the door—pulling it open before Adam could do any more damage to it.

The lantern hanging from the roof illuminated the porch slightly and for a moment, Paul could only gape at the young man's bedraggled appearance. Adam looked like he'd just stumbled out of an alleyway; his eyes half-lidded, beard unkept and hair standing out in all sorts of interesting directions. While Paul just stood there, frozen, Adam in turn, straightened up and nodded politely at the doctor.

"Good evening, Paul."

His face was completely deadpan as if there was nothing at all unusual about the situation and he showed not even a hint of surprise at the fact that the doctor was home six days earlier than planned.

"Adam," Paul responded dryly. "Won't you come in?"

Adam gave another nod, but as he stepped forward, he somehow managed to catch the tip of his boot on the door-frame's tiny threshold and ended up tumbling into the dimly lit foyer, or more precisely—into the doctor. Paul let out an "Ooof" when he was hit square in the diaphragm and quickly grabbed his friend to keep him on his feet.

"For God's sake, Adam," he grunted, "how much have you had?"

Some unintelligible reply was mumbled into his burgundy robe and Paul turned his face away with a disgusted grimace when he got a whiff of the whiskey stench clinging to the Cartwright. He angled his head towards Madeline who was holding a hand to her breastbone, her eyes fixed on Adam.

"My dear, could you perhaps—" Paul gritted his teeth, hoisting the practically limp body in his arms up, "—get the door?"

Her lashes fluttered a couple of times. "I . . . yes, sorry." She whisked around the two men and went to the wide-open door.

"All right, lad." Pulling Adam's dangling arm across his shoulder, the doctor braced himself. "Let's go."

Having no intention of attempting a staircase-climb with Adam in his inebriated state, Paul headed in the direction of his office, just opposite the sitting room. He half carried, half dragged the Cartwright into the dark room and luckily, it was a lot tidier in there these days—thanks to Madeline's housekeeping skills. The two men moved as if they were doing some strange-looking dance, but they made it across the room without knocking anything over. Paul paused by the door to the backroom reserved for his examinations, and he panted, considering how best to open it when Madeline appeared with the lamp in hand. She opened the door and went first into the backroom while the doctor adjusted his grip on Adam and followed.

"I gotta to . . . see . . . to see Madeline."

"Yes, yes, indeed."

Paul maneuvered his friend across the floor, right over to the tufted chaise longue where he deposited him.

 _So much for a good night's sleep . . ._

He saw that Madeline was making her way around the room, lighting more lamps, but she kept glancing back at the slouched form on the chaise longue. Even in the faint light, the worry-lines framing her mouth were clear.

Struggling to get his mind up to speed, Paul scratched his scalp as he turned to the chaise longue again. Adam sat with his head hanging down and both hands planted firmly on either side of him. When his shoulders suddenly jerked up, the doctor feared that his handmade Indian carpet was about to be redecorated, but only a little hiccup broke the silence in the room. Shifting, Adam finally raised an unfocused gaze, and Paul had definitely not anticipated the sudden tight pressure that formed somewhere in his own chest.

"Paul, all I'm . . . I just want to see—" He broke off, roughly smearing a palm across his face as his voice became agitated. "Where's . . . where's—"

While Paul was utterly unable to look away from the young man, he sensed Madeline's hesitant approach from his left. The second she moved into Adam's line of sight, his expression underwent a complete transformation. The tension across his brow vanished and his mouth opened in a wide, almost childlike smile.

"There she is . . ."

The doctor half expected that he would attempt to stand, but instead, Adam just stretched an arm out towards her, regarding her like she was the world's greatest miracle. She wavered at first, but then stepped close enough to take his hand. His eyelids instantly closed and he breathed in deeply, as if he'd been without air for a while.

"I was . . . I needed to see you."

"Adam, I told you not to come here . . ."

The words were admonishing, yet her voice was only tender, loving.

"But I—" He peered up at her in innocent confusion. "You said for a while and it . . . I missed you."

She bit down into her bottom lip, but not before Paul saw the little quiver there.

"It's all right, Adam," she said softly.

"I'm sorry for I . . . for whatever I did to . . . to—" He dropped his chin. "You're so beautiful . . ."

"Don't be sorry . . . oh, please don't say that," she whispered, suddenly falling down to her knees in front of him. "You have nothing to be sorry for, _nothing_ . . ."

Her eyes were shimmering pools of deep green as they drifted down to settle on Adam's hand holding hers, and Paul involuntarily swallowed in an attempt to relieve the peculiar ache in his throat. He was in the process of backing out of the room to give the two some privacy when he noted a change in Madeline's countenance.

"What is—" Her voice cut off and Paul saw that she was now looking at Adam's other hand, the one still planted beside him. "Adam, you are bleeding!"

She spun back to her uncle in panic, but Paul was already there, kneeling down beside her as he carefully took hold of Adam's left hand.

"It's not . . . I'm fine."

Paul—now in full doctor mode—ignored the young man's feeble attempt at pulling away his hand. There was a slight dark-pink shade to his palm, as though there had been blood there but it had been wiped away, not rinsed off with water. By his wrist, however, was a splotch of red and the shirt-cuff was wet—the blood difficult to detect against the black fabric. Paul huffed and began unbuttoning the cuff when his sharp eyes traced up the sleeve. The sudden gasp from his niece confirmed that she'd seen what he had. There was a long, thin tear up the underside of the sleeve, all the way to the elbow.

"Madeline, I need more light," Paul said calmly. He didn't look away from the arm and she instantly got to her feet. With the cuff undone, he made a rip at the bottom of the sleeve, letting it follow the tear up to the elbow. He rolled the damp and mangled fabric up, exposing the injury just as Madeline came back with another lamp.

"Well, of all the . . . is this from a knife, Adam?"

"Mmh, yea. I tripped."

That did make Paul raise his head, but only to drill the Cartwright with a cool glare.

"If that is what you have to offer—that you _tripped_ and landed on a knife—then I'd rather you stayed quiet while I work."

It was tremendously exasperating, Adam Cartwright's ability to maintain that stoic expression even while looking like something the cat wouldn't have bothered to drag in. Paul returned his attention to the injured arm, grumbling to himself. When Madeline handed him a white cloth, he ruthlessly pressed it against the cut, but Adam didn't even twitch. After a while, her worried voice ended the tense quiet.

"Uncle Paul, look . . ."

Paul saw that she'd taken Adam's other hand again, but this time his palm was down, and the back of his hand was turned up.

"And did you also _trip_ and fall on your knuckles?!" the doctor snapped.

Adam just blinked sluggishly, only paying mind to Madeline. Paul did a mental count to five, then addressed his niece.

"Could you get some water, clean towels and bandages, please. This will need stitching."

Her eyes flickered to him, and they were so bright with fear and unshed tears that the irritation his patient had evoked in him quickly abated.

"He'll be fine," Paul reassured her. "It's deep, but the bleeding is already slowing. Now, go get those items."

Relief lessened the anxiety on her face and after giving Adam's good arm a little stroke, she got up and headed for the doorway. The patient, however, was clearly not in favor of that development and as Madeline disappeared from his bleary sight, he shuffled uncomfortably on the chaise longue.

"No," he mumbled, "Don't . . . where's—"

"She will be back in a minute, just sit still."

Paul rearranged the red-soaked cloth, pressing the last white patch against the wound. His mouth dropped open in consternation though, when Adam suddenly bent forward, about to stand up.

"Madeline, I have to . . . come—"

"Stay where you are!"

Paul Martin prided himself on being a patient man. But there was only so much a man could take. And Paul had just about taken it. He'd spent the entire previous day and night travelling along dusty roads, returned home to an unwell niece who refused to talk to him—he'd slept barely three hours before being startled awake by a drunken Cartwright who was bleeding all over the place and too out of his head to take simple instructions. The doctor rose up and put both hands on his friend's shoulders to keep him in place.

"Stay. Where. You. Are."

Adam settled back down again, looking quite befuddled. And Paul continued stemming the lazy ooze of blood. Thankfully, it wasn't long before Madeline returned and with the patient placated by her presence, the doctor was finally able to do his work.

xXXx

Twenty minutes later, Adam was lying flat on his back on the chaise longue, a white bandage covering his left arm from his wrist to his elbow. Madeline sat in a chair next to him, running her fingers through his messy hair. Every few seconds, he'd mutter something incoherent and she'd gently hush him—whisper secret things to him that seemed to soothe him.

Paul was by his work table, putting the suture instruments and bandages away. Fortunately, the knife's blade had been sharp, and although the cut was rather deep and had bled a lot, it was clean and had been easily stitched. Adam's alcohol-self-medication had proven to be a sufficient sedative, and during the procedure, he had shown no indication of being in pain. He'd simply watched Madeline and been quiet for most of it, but occasionally, he'd given into a little lovesick babbling.

The doctor knew how much his reserved friend would hate the fact that he'd said those things out loud. The truth was, Paul hadn't ever seen Adam in such a state before and he doubted that anyone else ever had.

By the time the cut had been stitched, Adam was having trouble keeping his eyes open and it was obvious to both uncle and niece that he hadn't had proper sleep for some time, although neither of them said it. Actually, Madeline had been oddly silent throughout it all. Paul had taken advantage of the young man's sudden drowsiness and conducted a more thorough examination—finding a spreading bruise on his jawline hidden under the dark beard, and a sizable lump on the back of his head.

His worktable now back in order, Paul wiped a robe-sleeve across his brow and turned around. It was quiet now, over by the chaise longue, and he could see Adam's chest rise and fall in a steady, even rhythm. Madeline was brushing two fingers lightly down his stubbled cheek, her expression pinched and hurting.

"Oh, Adam . . . what has happened to you?"

Paul was unsure of how to respond to her soft-spoken words, but a sound from the foyer solved that problem for him.

 _For the love of . . . this cannot be!_

He had grabbed a lamp, stormed straight from the backroom and into his office by the time Madeline caught up with him.

She pulled on his arm and held tight. "Let me, Uncle Paul, I will get it!"

Her fervent request stunned him, but only for a moment—then he continued on out into the hall, shaking his head in mounting frustration.

"Madeline, I am old, I am tired, it will be dawn soon and whoever this next visitor is,"—he paused by the front door, grasping the door handle—"they will be told to go on their merry way!"

He flung the door open, only to find himself face to face with a concerned-looking Roy Coffee. Roy squinted at him, perplexed, and the doctor's vexation dispersed.

Paul sighed. "He is here."

"He's—" The sheriff snapped his mouth closed and puffed out air through his clenched teeth.

"That stubborn—I told 'im to stay put! I want a word with him, just wait 'till I—"

"Roy, I'm afraid that no words would make sense to him right now," Paul said, waving a hand wearily. "He is passed out in the backroom."

Roy's fury faded as swiftly as it had come and he went back to being worried. "Passed out? Is he all right?"

"Yes. Apparently, he took a dreadful fall."

A little movement from beside him made Paul look left. Madeline was standing there, her arms wrapped around herself as she stared at Roy. The sheriff took his hat off.

"Uh, Miss Madeline, sorry about the ah . . . early hour."

Paul frowned when she didn't say anything and he placed a hand on her shivering back, thinking that the whole situation was sending her into some kind of shocked state. Seeing her like that flared his simmering anger again and he swung back to Roy.  
"What on earth did he do?! And why is he even in town at this time?!"

"He caused a ruckus at the Bucket of Blood," Roy said, his eyes turning hard again, "by the time I got there, the place was a shambles and Sam and some of the other guys had hauled him outside. I told him to stay where he was while I went in to break up the fighting that was still goin' on. From what I can gather, Adam got into it with Fred Clayton and that's what started the whole mess."

Madeline made an exclamation of shock and Paul moved closer to her.

"I wasn't expectin' you to be home yet doc," Roy continued, "but when I couldn't find Adam and his horse was still at the saloon, I thought maybe . . ." He inclined his head at Madeline.

"Well, you were right, Roy." Paul's tone became grim. "He came here about half an hour ago—out of his head and with a knife wound in his arm."

The whites of Roy's eyes enlarged in the dim light. "What?! I didn't know he was hurt, I just assumed he was plain drunk! He didn't seem to be in pain . . ."

Smacking his hat against his thigh, the sheriff paced around a little on the porch.

"Mr. Coffee," Madeline suddenly said, "I-I'm—"

"Just a minute, Miss," Roy said, holding up a hand. "I know this must be real upsettin' for you to hear about but I gotta get to the bottom of this thing."

Roy waved at a man standing by the foot of the porch stairs. "Hey, Mr. could ya come up here for a second?"

"Yes, sir."

When Roy faced Paul again, the doctor watched him curiously.

"He was at the saloon when it all happened," Roy explained, "one of the only witnesses there who was half sober out of the bunch, so he's gonna give me a statement. He offered to go with me here, look for Adam. I reckon he knows him."

"Yes, sheriff?" the man said when he came up next to Roy.

"Doc here says that Adam Cartwright was struck in the arm with a knife. Did you see that happen?"

The man's eyes went round with surprise. "No, I admit I didn't. I did see him trip and fall over when the other man . . . Clayton, is it? Well, when Mr. Clayton jumped at him. And now that you say it, Mr. Clayton did seem to have something in his hand, it could very well have been a knife, yes."

"Well, that little . . . this just gets better and better, don't it," Roy said, rubbing his neck.

"As I and plenty of other witnesses saw—Mr. Clayton also had several companions with him and Adam Cartwright was only one man. It hardly seemed like a fair fight, sir."

While Paul was half-listening to the two men's conversation, his attention kept going to Madeline, and she had the strangest, frightened look on her face.

"Madeline?" he said, bending down as he tried to see what she was gazing at. "Fred Clayton isn't out there, you don't have to worry . . ." He glanced out at the empty street. "There's no one out there."

Roy cut in, clearly concerned for her too. "He's right, Ma'am. I got Clayton over at the jail, there ain't nothin' for you to worry over, he won't be getting out of there for a while. I heard about the trouble he's been causing you and I guess it explains why Adam and 'im got to fightin'."

"I hope he isn't too badly hurt?" the witness asked.

"He's all right," Paul said with confidence, knowing how badly Roy felt about it all. "The cut is stitched up and though he will definitely feel it when he wakes up, it should heal just fine."

"I guess that's something at least." Roy looked back and forth between uncle and niece. "Well, I better get going. Doc Higgins is takin' a look at Clayton over at the jail." He then addressed the man by his side. "You better come with me then, so I can take that statement from ya. I appreciate your help, I'm sorry that your night got interrupted . . ."

"That's quite all right, Sheriff." The man smiled agreeably. "I am frankly not used to being up at this hour, but I was joining some friends in a celebration. I'll just find them afterwards, they're close by, I'm sure."

The exchange between the two made Paul acknowledge the stranger's presence properly for the first time and he said, "Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name, Mr. . . ?"

"Ah, please excuse me, doctor." The man stretched out his hand. "My name is Barns. Chris Barns."

Watching him closely, Paul shook his hand. He hadn't seen him around before. "And are you a friend of Adam's, Mr. Barns?"

"Oh, I don't know him all that well yet, no. But we do seem to have some common interests. Perhaps, while I'm in town, I will run into him again under more pleasant circumstances, when he is feeling better."

Paul let go of the man's hand, but continued to study him—until he felt Madeline lean against his side. He held her closer to support her when she wobbled slightly and he realized she was standing on the porch in bare feet.

"Madeline, you shouldn't be out here like this, you aren't well, dear . . ." He glanced at the two men. "I'm sorry, but she is a little under the weather, we should—"

"I'm real sorry for bringin' ya all this upsettin' news Ma'am," Roy said, clutching his hat to his front. "We'll be on our way now. Just uh, send for me when Adam wakes up, will ya doc?"

"Yes, of course."

Mr. Barns tipped his bowler hat to them with another smile and headed down the stairs. Roy was about to follow him when a thought came to Paul's mind.

"Oh, ah, Roy . . . what shall we do about Ben?"

The sheriff stiffened, his mouth twisting to the side. "I reckon we hold off a bit with sending a message out there. Like you said, Adam ain't that badly hurt. We'll see when he wakes up. Then again . . . Ben might come looking for 'im before we get the chance to do anything."

Paul agreed, then spoke to Madeline. "Would you go inside and check on him? I'll be right behind you."

The utter despair and vulnerability in her eyes almost overwhelmed the doctor. "Please, my Belle, do as I say. I will be right there."

She blinked and a single tear trickled down her porcelain cheek. She turned and he helped her back inside the house, and though she was a bit unsteady, she seemed able to walk on her own. Paul stepped outside again to his friend and lowered his voice.

"Roy, when you came here . . . surely, you didn't mean to take Adam into jail as well?"

"No, doc. Like my witness just said, Clayton had some friends and he was the one who drew a knife."

"Good . . ." The doctor's stance relaxed.

"But I'll tell you somethin' else," Roy said, his demeanor severe. "People also say that although Fred Clayton came looking for a fight, Adam was more than willin' to give it to him. He took the first swing."

Paul's lips became a tight line. The friends shared a last, meaningful look before the sheriff went down the porch stairs to his witness and the two men disappeared in the silvery mist that covered the darkish street.

Paul retreated into the foyer and listened as Madeline padded through his office. He closed the front door and followed her. When he came into the backroom, she was sitting in the chair beside Adam again. He lay exactly as they'd left him, sleeping peacefully it seemed.

Watching the couple at that instant, Paul would have given anything to know what had gone on while he'd been away. It made no sense. And the thing that puzzled him the most, was his niece's behavior. She clearly loved the lad. Very deeply.

Gathering himself, Paul moved over beside the chaise longue.

"Madeline, we have to talk."

To his surprise, she stood from the chair. "Not now I'm afraid. It will be dawn soon and I have some things to sort before I need to get ready. Sally needs me at the restaurant very early."

Paul looked down at Adam, then back at her. " . . . You're leaving?"

He stared at her, but her eyes were locked on Adam, her fingertips tracing his shoulder. She slowly pulled her hand back and all of her small frame seemed to lift with a breath.

"I will bring you some coffee in a little while."

She went around him and walked towards the doorway without meeting his gaze. Paul fell into the chair she'd vacated and folded his hands, resting them beside Adam's limp arm. When he sensed that she was about to exit the room, he spoke up, his voice quiet but deliberate.

"Madeline. You are my family and I love you more than anything in the world. I will always support you and side with you for that reason." He looked down at the battered man before him, knowing that she was listening. "But I do not understand. I don't understand why you would leave him now."

His words gave way to silence. Followed by the sound of her disappearing foot-steps.


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's Notes_

 _Hiya guys!_

 _I'm sorry about the delay on this, I know it took ages. We all have ups and downs and for a while there, I just had a few too many downs. BUT, I'm back now and with another double-chapter situation! This one carries on almost straight after the previous chapter. I want to thank you all for your amazing reviews, guests and members, I just love hearing what you think! I'm pushing Adam to the limit and yes, it shows in his slightly uncharacteristic behavior. Hopefully, you find it interesting like I do, to see him in a situation that he hasn't been in before. Okay, here we go, I hope you're still with me and that you enjoy this! :) And chapter 26 will be up sometime today too, as soon as possible._

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

The first thing he became aware of was how dry his mouth was. It felt like he had a cotton boll lodged in his throat. A sticky, foul-tasting cotton boll. Instinctively, he tried to swallow, but all that accomplished was a scratchy tickle in his windpipe which sent him into a violent coughing fit. By the end of it, there were specks of white breaking up the darkness surrounding him, and he lay in it, panting, as a merciless weight pressed against his skull from all sides. An acidic whiskey taste crept up the back of his throat and his lips twisted at the bitter memory.

"Might I suggest that you aim for the basin this time?"

That was strange. A familiar voice, but where was it coming from? And why was it shouting at him? He carefully licked his cracked lower lip. Maybe if he stayed still, the voice would go away.

"Come on, have some water."

There was a tap on his shoulder—making him realize that he _had_ a shoulder. As he concentrated, he gradually comprehended that he had other things too—besides the splitting headache and parched mouth. His left foot twitched. His right arm shifted, and there was something soft and warm covering him. He couldn't get his left arm to do anything though.

The voice sighed. He got the feeling it was annoyed with him. After a while, he finally figured out the trick to opening his eyes, but as he pried his eyelids apart, they only got halfway before falling closed again. God, that was bright.

"Come on, Adam. You need to have some water."

Now it was his turn to get annoyed. Why couldn't he just stay like this? When there was another nudge at his shoulder, he cautiously peeped out through his lashes and a stabbing pain struck his brain. He let out a low, lengthy groan.

"Yes, I can imagine," said the voice.

". . . Paul?" he croaked.

"Well, it isn't your fairy godmother."

He closed his eyes again. What was the point when he could only see a blurry outline of the doctor's head? As he was lying there, his attention suddenly shifted to another part of his anatomy.

"Adam, will you just for once do as I . . . hold, hold on lad, just wait a—"

His body jerked as he struggled to sit up and a strong arm looped around his shoulders, pushing his head in a forward direction. Before he knew what was happening, his stomach lurched and a rush of acidic liquid spewed from his mouth. It seemed to go on forever, and Adam was oddly conscious of his friend's inconceivable achievement of holding the porcelain basin up, pushing his head in the right direction, _and_ keeping him from toppling face first into the pungent mass. All of it done at the same time—by one man.

When the violent contractions in his gut finally ceased, he noticed that Paul even managed to get rid of the basin without releasing his grip, and the doctor magically produced a glass of water out of seemingly nowhere. Adam immediately went for it.

"Easy now, little sips. I for one, do not wish a repeat of what just happened."

The cool water instantly soothed the burn in his mouth and he made a disapproving grunt when it was taken away from him far too soon.

"You can have more in just a moment. Lie back down so I can get rid of this."

He was eased down onto his back, and the crumbled blanket was smoothed over him again. Watching a spot on the ceiling, he willed the room to stop twirling. Paul was moving around somewhere beside him and at some point, left the room. The water had helped clear his head a little and while Adam lay still, flashes of last night's events started coming back to him.

The more he remembered, the worse he felt. He was pretty sure that it was all just as bad as he recalled it. And the things that remained too hazy for him to conjure up were probably no better. Squinting down at his left arm, he saw that there was indeed a white bandage covering it, blemished with little spots of red. That part didn't bother him much though. The only thing he really cared about was that _she_ wasn't in the room with him. And with the way he'd acted last night, he couldn't blame her.

When Paul came back in, Adam was in the same position, gazing up at the ceiling.

"So, you _are_ capable of taking orders. That gives me hope."

The doctor came over with more water, a cloth and bandages, and sat down in the chair beside the chaise longue, placing the items beside Adam.

"Here, have some more."

Pushing himself up into a sitting position again, Adam took the proffered glass with his good hand.

"I'm going to change this bandage. I don't know how much you remember about last night but let me tell you that it wasn't pretty."

Adam stared down at the glass. "Paul . . . where's Madeline?"

"She went to the restaurant, they're quite busy at the moment," Paul said dispassionately. His focus was on the injured arm as he began unwrapping the bandage. "It's nine o'clock and when I'm finished with this, I'll rustle up some breakfast. Roy is going to stop by in a while and I assume that your father will be showing up soon too."

With the bandage removed, he bent down to scrutinize the stitches. "Mmmh." He nodded appreciatively. "Very neat work, if I do say so myself."

"Why won't she talk to me, Paul?" Adam's head was bowed, his voice quiet.

The doctor's hands went still. "I don't know," he finally said. "I . . . well, she won't exactly talk to me either." Paul's tone turned gruff at the end and he let the spotted bandage fall to the floor before taking the clean cloth.

"I only made things worse." Adam set down the glass on the worktable with an audible clatter. "I acted like a complete idiot." He looked straight ahead of himself, his head slowly moving from side to side.

". . . I'll agree that it was a rather ungainly attempt at sweeping her off her feet," Paul said with uncharacteristic hesitance. "But what's done is done."

"Yea."

Just one toneless word in response. It was all he had left.

"This will hurt a bit, Adam."

Sure enough, when Paul gently pressed the cloth against him, a sharp throb shot from his elbow down to his wrist—setting off little prickles all the way to his fingertips. His chest rose with a deep breath as the pain flooded his mind. He relished it. The minutes went by as he sat there, absorbed in only the physical pain until it lessened and became a dull ache. When he looked down at his arm again, a fresh, white bandage was neatly wrapped around it.

"There we are. Not too tight?" Paul asked.

"No."

"Good. Now, how do you want your eggs? I recommend scrambled with some toast. It's a specialty of mine and it'll probably be the easiest on your stomach."

"I don't want anything."

"Look, Adam, you need some nourishment," Paul said with enforced patience. "You haven't been eating enough to sustain yourself—I saw what went into that basin first hand, remember?"

Silently, Adam faced away from the doctor, his half-lidded eyes blinking once. Paul blew out his cheeks as he released a long gush of air.

"Okay, I realize that you're bothered by this thing with Madeline. But when she returns home later, you'll have had time to rest, clean up and sort yourself out. The two of you can talk, reiterate your love for one another and then we can all put this absurdity behind us. Frankly, it's rather exhausting."

Adam's expression remained solid as stone. He looked out at the room as if in a daze—numbed by the raw emptiness inside him—humiliation and rejection nibbling away at his insides. Everything was just too much.

"Thank you for your help, Paul," he said in a dead tone. "Send me the bill at the Ponderosa."

He twisted his body and lifted his legs, letting them dangle off the chaise longue. It wasn't hard to ignore the pain in his arm. He didn't feel much of anything at that point.

"Did you even hear a word of what I just said?"

"Yes, I did." Adam set his feet on the floor. "But I'm the last person she wants to see when she gets home. She told me to stay away and I just had to go and—" He broke off, biting the inside of his cheek. "She doesn't want me here, Paul. There's no point. In any of it."

As he pushed himself up to a swaying stand, Paul shot from his chair.

"And just where do you think you're going?" He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder to steady him.

Adam waited for the world to stop rotating, then he raised his jaw and gestured to the doorway behind the doctor.

"To the saloon."

"Very funny," Paul said with pinched eyebrows. "You just take yourself upstairs and have another nap. Maybe you'll see sense when you wake up."

"Where's my horse?"

"I . . . Roy probably got someone to take him to the livery stable, but listen to me, you can't just—"

"Good day, Paul."

Adam managed three determined steps across the room before an intense, piercing pang hit the back of his skull, making him halt and lift a hand to the tender spot. Blindly, he put his other hand out to balance himself and encountered something soft.

"Adam, stop this nonsense! You have an egg-sized lump on the back of your head, probably a concussion. More alcohol is decidedly not the way to go, you know better."

Paul tried guiding him back to the chair when a loud clashing sound suddenly sounded from the foyer.

 _"Doctor Martin are you here?! Doctor Martin, we need your assistance immediately!"_

The shrilly call was topped off with the unmistakable sound of a child's thin wailing. Paul's eyes flew to the doorway leading to his office, then dashed back to his friend

"Don't you move, you hear? I'll be right back."

He released Adam and hurried out of the room, running a hand across his scalp.

 _"Mrs. Jansson, what is—"_

 _"Oh, Doctor Martin! It's little Henry, he fell from a tree, his arm is hurting terribly! I heard that you had returned, and we came straight here. Oh, Goodness, he is in such pain, doctor!"_

Adam was only taking in bits and pieces of the conversation going on out in the hall. He groaned, removed his hand from the back of his head and settled it across his stinging eyes. Peeking out between his fingers, he focused on the doorway. He staggered towards it, wincing when the shriek wailing from the foyer pitched up.

 _"Sorry about that, lad. But at least now we know it isn't broken."_

 _"Doctor, please, you must do something! Oh, my little sweet, everything will be all right . . ."_

 _"Yes, well come into my office. I ah . . . I have another patient at the moment, so let me just settle him first."_

Adam slumped against the doorway to the office just as Paul reentered the room from the hall and the doctor's jaw went slack as his fists clenched by his sides.

"Thunderation!" He rushed across the room, grasping Adam's good arm. "What's gotten into you?! You're going upstairs this instant or so help me, Adam—I'll knock you out myself—concussion or not!"

Adam found himself pulled, none too gently, forwards past Paul's desk but then stopped right in front of Mrs. Jansson's shocked face.

"Doctor!" she exclaimed, her mouth huge. "Surely, an injured child comes before a grown man who so obviously has _himself_ to thank for his current state!" Her mouth twisted in distaste as young Henry continued to sob uncontrollably into her skirt. "I am sure that Mr. Cartwright will agree."

There was nothing Adam wanted to do more, but his mind was far too slow and Paul spoke before he got the chance.

"Mrs. Jansson, with respect, I am the doctor here and it's up to me to decide which patient requires immediate attention."

The doctor's clipped response elicited an appalled look with the woman, a grimace from Adam and another burst of howling from the little boy. Mrs. Jansson dropped down next to her son, taking him in her arms as his whole body shook and Paul's lips pressed together. Adam didn't care about any of it, he just wanted to get out of there. Right now.

"My apologies, Mrs. Jansson," Paul said, facing the woman while tightening his hold on his friend's arm when Adam started to move away, "but it isn't broken, I believe it's probably just bruised and—ADAM for the LAST time—"

"Let me go, Paul. Just leave me alone."

His speech was rough and raw, unrecognizable. Slowly, the grip around his arm loosened and suddenly—he was free. Free to make it to the doorway and out into the hall, to the foyer, and there was the front door, wide open, a rectangular shape of brightness.

As Adam disappeared from his sight, Paul stood motionless in the same spot. He screwed his eyes shut for a second, then turned around to his remaining patient. Kneeling beside the now lightly sobbing boy, Paul adopted his comforting-doctor-smile.

"Well, it looks like it's your turn little tree-climber. We'll soon have you in working order again. Why don't you and your mother go into the examination room and I will be right there. I'll even let you sit in my special doctor's chair while we fix that arm of yours."

The boy tentatively looked up at the doctor. He sniffled, then nodded—appeased by the prospect of sitting in a special chair. Mrs. Jansson's lips were still curled in a scowl, but she took her son's hand and the two headed into the next room to wait.

As soon as they were gone, Paul went to his desk and scribbled a short but succinct message onto a piece of paper. He then marched out into the foyer, folding the paper as he went, and continued out through the front door. A curse almost burst out of him when he saw three elderly ladies coming up the stairs of his front porch.

"Ah, Doctor Martin, so you _are_ home! Oh, how very fortunate, I've had the most dreadful migraine these last few days."

"And my hip has been causing me terrible pain, doctor!"

"Oh, dear doctor, I've been awaiting your return, I have the most painful—"

"Yes, yes, ladies." He gestured to the front door. "If you'll just wait in my office, I will be with you in a moment."

They moved past him and into the foyer, chatting and cackling like a group of hens. Paul stood alone on the porch, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes and now half-considering joining Adam at the saloon. It was the same every time he came home after being away; his patients, especially the elderly lady ones, always seemed to develop all kinds of "ailments" during his absences and the first few days of being home again were exceptionally busy at his practice.

But in spite of everything that was going on in his private-life, he was still their doctor and he had a job to do. He scanned the street and stuck a thumb and forefinger in his mouth, whistling sharply at a young man walking along the road. He waved and the lad loped across to the doctor's house and jumped up the stairs to the porch.

"Do me a favor—get this message to the Cartwrights at the Ponderosa. As quickly as you can."

Paul got out a dollar and gave it to the youngster along with the message.

"Yes sir!"

The young man leaped down the stairs and set off down the street.

Knowing that he couldn't delay any longer, Paul straightened his vest and turned back to the house. On his way inside, he glanced down at the broken porch swing lying on the floor. With a weary snort, the doctor went into the foyer and closed the front door behind him.

xXXx

"More coffee?"

Mr. Barns held the coffee pot in the air, studying his partner on the opposite side of the table. When he received no response, he stifled a yawn with his free hand. "All right, I'm finishing it then."

Bright morning sunbeams shone in through the window, chasing away the shadows in the hotel room and all was quiet except for the soothing sound of coffee pouring. Mr. Barns tipped the pot, letting the last few drops spill and the dark liquid almost reached the brim of the floral-decorated porcelain cup. He set the pot down on the table and looked over at his associate again. Wickworth was facing the window to his left, his hands folded by his mouth. His eyes were shiny, glazed. Mr. Barns lifted the cup, pushing his lips out in a pucker under his mustache as he sipped the coffee.

"Ahhh," he sighed with a smile of content, "definitely the most drinkable coffee I've had out here in the West. Refreshing."

He replaced the cup on its saucer and relaxed in his chair, casually adjusting his silk neck-scarf. A reverberating, clinking noise captured his attention and he noticed that the dainty cup was trembling slightly on the saucer. With a displeased frown, he realized that the cause was his partner's leg vibrating under the table.

"Would you mind not—"

"What the devil were you thinking, Chris?!"

Wicksworth's hand flew from his mouth, landing on the tabletop with a smack and a wave of coffee splashed over the lip of the little cup.

"Really, Robert . . ." Mr. Barns reached for a napkin and dabbed at the dark puddle in the saucer, "what an unpleasant thing to do."

"Why—WHY would you go to see your wife with her uncle present, with the SHERIFF there?!"

"Like I told you, I had no choice. I needed to know what was going on and I knew she wouldn't dare say anything while I was there."

"Did you even stop to think about what it would mean for us—for everything we've worked for—if things _hadn't_ gone as you expected?" Wickworth swung both arms out, his face flushed. "And what's to stop her from telling her uncle now, while they're alone? You can't have eyes inside that house!"

Taking his time, Mr. Barns arranged the now damp napkin in a neat square on the table. "I'll say this once again; she won't tell her uncle anything. Me showing up there was the most effective warning I could've given her. She recognized my intention, I'm sure of it."

Wickworth glared at him. "This little game you're playing has gotten _completely_ out of hand! And what about that Cartwright fella, I thought you said he was out of the picture? Have you got someone following him around too?"

"Don't you concern yourself about him and no, having him followed would be a mistake. From what I've heard around town, he's a sharp one, he'd probably realize it. It was just lucky that one of my men was at the saloon last night and recognized him. If I _hadn't_ gone there, we might actually have some trouble on our hands now." A slow smile developed across Mr. Barns' mouth. "He isn't like other Yankees I've met. I must admit that the more I learn about him, the more intrigued I am. By him and his family."

A high-pitched, hysterical laugh suddenly filled the room. "Well, why don't you just invite them all over for coffee and tea then?" Wickworth dug down into his vest-pocket and ripped out a handkerchief. "It has become very clear to me that you have no qualms whatsoever."

He wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead, then brought the cloth down across both his chunky cheeks and to his chin. When he noticed that he'd received no reply, he looked across the table and realized that his partner was observing him. Wickworth wriggled a little uneasily in his chair.

"What?"

"You're starting to irritate me now," Mr. Barns said coolly. "I advise you to stop. Strongly."

Wickworth's hand fell from his chin, his eyes turning incredulous. "You're just outright crazy, aren't you? No that's it . . . I'm pulling out of this thing, Chris. I should have left this town days ago."

"We _would_ have left days ago if _you_ hadn't slipped up!" Mr. Barns snapped and abruptly stood up. "No one here has heard of the San Francisco-Fresno Railroad, and rightly so, since it doesn't exist." He moved away from the table and began pacing around the room with short, agitated steps. "All your man had to do was send a wire on behalf of the railroad confirming that we are who we say we are—it was the one thing you assured me you could take care of. Clearly, I should've handled that myself too."

"We've been through this, I don't know what the hold-up is with that telegram, but something must have gone wrong," Wickworth said, watching his partner's tread back and forth. "That's why we should cut our losses and leave now—we still have a few female investors who are so overcome by your _boundless_ _charm_ that they'll likely pay up without that confirming wire—"

"Oh, stop babbling, neither of us is going anywhere." Pausing in the middle of the room, Mr. Barns faced his associate. "Now, pull yourself together and start thinking clearly. If we don't get that telegram from your useless friend, there's another way of making our enterprise look good and reliable."

"Oh? I'm just dying to hear this."

Mr. Barns smiled as he ambled back to the table. "How about an investment from the biggest and perhaps most influential landowners around here?"

Dropping his head, Wickworth spoke warily. "You mean the Cartwrights . . ."

Mr. Barns stopped behind the chair he'd been sitting in before and leaned his arms on the backrest. "Apparently, Ben Cartwright has had some dealings and lumber contracts with the railroad and he's even made a few investments over the years. I've already obtained some information on the most notable gentlemen around these parts in the business whom I'm sure he knows." A wicked gleam came into Mr. Barns' eyes, making them sharp and bright. "Once we tell him that several of these prominent businessmen are connected to our enterprise, we'll likely have his attention."

"And just what happens when Ben Cartwright contacts one of these gentlemen, to hear what they have to say about our phony project?"

"Why, we won't be around for that, Robert." Mr. Barns walked around the chair and sat down again. "All we need to do, is make arrangements for a meeting with Cartwright, then drop a few remarks about it around town and let the gossipers do what they do best. Once our _other_ investors hear that the successful Cartwrights are interested in becoming our newest shareholders . . . everyone will want in on the deal. They'll be ready to pay up straight away and we leave the moment they do."

Wickworth began chewing on a fingernail as he considered the plan and Mr. Barns pulled out a black leather cigar-holder from inside his suit jacket. He stuck a cigar in between his lips and motioned towards the match box lying on the table by his partner. Wickworth pushed the box across the table and pressed his sweaty handkerchief against his forehead once again.

"I don't know," he said as the other man struck a match on the little box. "There's still no guarantee that the other investors will go for it just because they think the Cartwrights are in."

Mr. Barns lit his cigar and waved the match in the air to put out the flame. "They'll go for it. Greedy bunch, they are."

Neither of the two men spoke for a while and Mr. Barns sank as low as he could in his chair as he stretched out his legs underneath the table. As resignation eventually set in, Wickworth also fell back in his own chair, mimicking his partner.

"You know . . . there's one thing I'd like to know, Chris. Do you even care half as much about getting our money as you do about getting _her_?"

A puff of smoke drifted from Mr. Barns' lips as he held the cigar out in front of him. "She belongs to me." He stared at the cigar with wide eyes, his face showing no emotion. "By the way . . . you call me crazy again, and I'll kill you, Robert."

The chuckle that rose up from Wickworth's chest died as a short, strangled cough when he understood that the words were no joke. He held his breath, watching as his partner smoked the cigar. Robert Wickworth was in way over his head.

xXXx

"Another, Bill."

An empty tankard came sliding along the counter to the bartender.

"You sure about that, Adam? I ain't the type to go pryin' into people's business but—"

Adam slapped a coin down on the counter-top without looking up. The bartender stopped cleaning the glass he was holding and eyed the Cartwright skeptically.

"Fine then," he said, taking the dime. "But I heard about what happened at the Bucket last night and I don't want my place endin' up in the same condition. So, I'm gonna say to you what I usually tell them brothers of yours. Stay outta trouble, ya hear?"

"I hear ya," Adam muttered.

It was a quarter to ten o'clock and the Silver Dollar Saloon was fairly empty. Except for the five-man poker game going at one of the tables and the town drunks slumped in chairs around the room, there were just a few other customers. Some had come in for their morning whiskey-shots while others hadn't left at all yet since the night before. For the saloons that were open around the clock, it wasn't uncommon for patrons to spend practically the entire night at the establishment and although Bill sometimes complained—saying he was running a saloon, not a hotel—it was just part of the deal.

When Adam had first come in, he'd gone straight to the bar, not acknowledging anyone else in the room. Since then, he'd been standing at the far end of the bar-counter with his back to the saloon's other occupants, his demeanor withdrawn. No one, not even the usually talkative bartender had attempted to start up a conversation with him, and it suited Adam just fine. He was feeling anything but sociable.

He gave a mumbled thanks when Bill placed a new beer in front of him. Grabbing the handle of the tankard, he pulled it closer and the foamy top bulging out across the edge of the glass bounced a little.

He wasn't about to admit it, but Paul had been right. Drinking more alcohol on an empty stomach and with a crack in the head really wasn't one of his better ideas. The little good that the fresh air and brief, stumbling walk to the saloon had done him, had already been quelled. His head felt impossibly heavy again, like it was weighed down by all those muddled thoughts and the pounding by his temples was lessening at an agonizingly slow pace. But at least he was heading for that state of confusion and numbness that could take the edge off feelings—off heartache. After all, that was the whole point of it.

Lifting the tankard, he took a long gulp and ignored the nausea threatening to rise up again. He set the drink down and leaned dejectedly on the bar.

"Whoever she is, she isn't worth it."

The words came from somewhere close-by and since Adam was the only one in the near vicinity, he figured they were directed at him. He cast a side-long look at a suit-clad man standing by the other end of the bar-counter.

"Did you say something?"

"Oh, I meant no offense. It's just, well"—the man gestured to Adam with a broad sweep of his arm—"your appearance. I've seen that look on a lot of men's faces and there's always a woman to blame for it. And she's never worth it."

"Well, you're wrong." Adam turned back to his beer. "This one is."

"Ahh. She must be quite something then." The man smiled and strolled down the bar towards him. "You're Adam Cartwright, aren't you? We met briefly last night during all the excitement, but I very much doubt you remember it."

His eyes fixed on his drink, Adam raised the glass again. "Who are you?"

"I'm Chris Barns. I'm new around here, just staying in town with some associates for a few more days."

Adam gave no indication he'd even heard the words, he just sipped his beer. Mr. Barns rested an elbow on the counter-top and inclined his head at him.

"Is it quite painful?"

Glancing down at his bandaged arm, Adam gave a shrug of indifference. "I've had worse."

"Yes, I'm sure you have."

There was a little pause, and whoever this guy was, Adam was developing a strong dislike for him already. He just wanted to be left alone. But Mr. Barns spoke again.

"I was pleased to learn that this Mr. Clayton is being kept behind bars for a while. He seems to be a rather uncivilized fellow."

"Mm-hmm."

"Then again, I suppose this remote and uncultured part of the country breeds characters such as him. It's a pity."

Silence again. Adam greatly preferred the silence. He took another swig of beer, but just as he was about to swallow the drink, he noticed something out of the corner of his left eye. He turned and saw Mr. Barns scrutinizing him. In an intense way. Slowly, he swallowed the mouthful.

"And what brings you to Virginia City, Mr. Barns?"

His voice was laced with such unabashed disinterest that just about anyone would have taken the blatant hint.

But Mr. Barns simply smiled. "Why, I'm so glad you asked that. You see, my associates and I are here to promote a most interesting enterprise we're involved in—The San Francisco-Fresno railroad."

"Is that so."

"Indeed. I'm convinced it will be a success, it's very promising."

Done with humoring this overzealous businessman, Adam faced the counter again. "I'm not interested, Mr. Barns."

"Now, now, you shouldn't be so quick to dismiss it," Mr. Barns said with a slight chuckle, friendly and chiding at the same time. "I merely thought I'd mention this extraordinary opportunity to you. As a matter of fact, there are several prominent railroad representatives involved in this thing already. Come to think of it, you might even be familiar with some of them, perhaps if I list a few—"

"That won't be necessary," Adam cut in, "I'm sure you've done your research and that you already know I am in fact familiar with every one of the gentlemen you're about to mention. If you want a Cartwright-investment, you'd be better off talking to my father—he's been handling all our railroad deals and stakes the last few years." Casually, Adam shifted to look at the man again, angling his head to one side. "And I bet you were well aware of that fact before you approached me."

Mr. Barns' cordial smile stiffened. Actually, his whole face seemed to freeze like in a painting—even his eyes were completely unmoving. And Adam had never seen an expression quite like that before. A very odd few seconds of staring at one another went by, until Mr. Barns' features appeared to come to life again, starting with his smile that gradually grew wider.

"Well . . . charming as it has been talking with you, I should be on my way. I have a few acquaintances at the Cattlemen's association I'm meeting with." He backed away from the bar, but Adam noted how the man's eyes hadn't followed the rest of his face. They were still completely inert.

"Good day, Mr. Cartwright. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again."

Something about those last words hit Adam in a strange way. His eyes tracked Mr. Barns as the man walked back along the counter and to the saloon doors, until the moment he left the saloon. With a frown, Adam twisted back to the bar.

xXXx

Hoss peered over at his younger brother riding on the other side of their pa. He saw the same apprehension displayed on Joe's face as he was feeling inside, and the big man gulped. From under the brim of his hat, he chanced a speedy glimpse at their father.

Ben was sitting tall in the saddle, his chin tipped up as he glared at Virginia City in the distance. His dark eyebrows were low and pushed together, creating a knot of tension between them and his lips were drawn-in, barely visible, as if he was struggling to prevent another outburst.

The three men rode on for a little while further, nearing the town. Then all of a sudden, Ben let out a scoff—supposedly just aimed at the road ahead—as he yanked a little piece of paper out from his vest.

" _'Come and fetch Adam at the saloon immediately',_ " he grunted out loud for the sixth time within the last twenty minutes. "Adam, drinking at the saloon this early?! I've never heard anything so ridiculous!"

Hoss grimaced. "Pa, I sure wish you'd calm down . . . we don't know that he's over there drinkin'. Could be he's just there . . . well, killin' time or somethin'."

"Yea, we can't know anything for sure yet," Joe agreed cautiously.

"And what's Paul doing home so early anyway?!" Ben went on, swinging the paper around in the air. "And sending out foolish messages like this . . ."

The brothers made the wise decision not to comment on the muted, albeit impressive string of grumbled curses that their father uttered then. From the bits they overheard, both Hoss and Joe thought to themselves that if either of them had said even one of those words when they were younger, it would have earned them one memorable trip to the barn.

Ben finally ran out of steam and when he looked down at the message again, his straight posture suddenly sagged. Hoss saw it and he directed Chub closer to his father's horse.

"He's gonna be alright, Pa. I know you been worried and you had that bad feelin' yesterday about him not comin' home but it don't mean that somethin's happened. And now, at least we know where he's at, so we just go get him and take 'im home. But let's hear him out before ya go flyin' off . . ."

Joe had also moved closer to his family. "Hoss is right. We'll figure it out, don't worry Pa."

They watched their father anxiously because it took him an unnervingly long time to react to their words of reassurance. He just sat in the saddle as Buck walked on, still holding the paper—his tired and worried countenance making him seem older than his years. Eventually, he got himself together again and it was probably the thing Hoss and Joe most admired and most relied on about their pa. His endless strength and his ability to pick himself up and carry on. Ben blinked a few times and pulled his shoulders back while folding the message again.

"Yes, you're both right," he said, glancing to either side of him, at both his sons. "There must be an explanation. I suppose I should just be glad that we were already well over halfway to town by the time that messenger met us with Paul's note."

Steely determination flashed in his eyes and he turned back to the road. Virginia City was just up ahead.

"Let's go and get him."

Boosted by their father's resolve, Joe and Hoss nodded fiercely, and the three men kicked their horses to a fast canter as they rode up the last stretch to town.

xXXx


	26. Chapter 26

_Author's Notes_

 _Wow, reading all your wonderful and sweet reviews for the latest chapter left me feeling touched and SO happy. Thank you so very much everyone, for the continued support. This story means a great deal to me and some emotions are described and written straight from my own heart. It's such a gift to be able to share it with all of you and I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the turn it has taken with Adam's struggle and darker side coming out._

 _Here we go with the next bit—poor Adam, his family is coming to fetch him! Don't worry, the drama won't go on for much longer after this. Some action-packed chapters coming up soon.. As one reviewer said_ — _We need the good guys to get back in charge of the situation!_

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

The three Cartwrights rode down C Street, scanning both sides of the road for any sign of their missing family member. It was busy on the streets now because farmers and other ranchers living outside of town typically came in at this time to run errands and buy supplies. Ben and his sons had naturally headed for the Bucket of Blood since that was the saloon Adam was most likely to go to and they were just rounding the corner of the street where they would be able to see the tavern when a voice shouted to them.

They halted their horses and saw Roy jump down from the boardwalk by the sheriff's office. He strode towards them and judging by his grim expression, he wasn't coming over to small talk.

With obvious reluctance, Ben addressed his sons. "I better see what he wants. You two just . . . find your brother."

"We'll find him, Pa," Joe assured him.

As Ben turned his horse back around to the approaching sheriff, Hoss and Joe continued along the street in the direction of the Bucket of Blood.

When the brothers arrived at the saloon, they were surprised to see a sign hanging by the entrance that said "temporarily closed". Hoss tried not to show it, but that gave him a very bad feeling. Sam only ever closed down the saloon when there had been some sort of brawl and the place needed to be cleaned up and repaired. When he felt his younger brother's perceptive eyes settle on him, he knew that Joe was feeling the same thing. They needed to find Adam.

The second most likely saloon they would find him in was the Silver Dollar and since it was also nearby, they went there next. When the building came into their view, they searched the hitching rails for Sport, but the chestnut wasn't there. They pulled up out front and Hoss shrugged in response to the questioning look Joe gave him.

"Might as well go in and check. Maybe he put Sport at the livery stable."

They dismounted, tied their horses to the post and climbed the steps to the boardwalk. Hoss pushed the batwing doors open and quickly saw that there were just a few customers in the saloon. It was one person in particular though, who immediately had his full attention. An audible sigh came from his right and Hoss looked sideways at Joe who'd also seen their brother. Joe took his hat off and the inner-ends of his eyebrows rose even as the rest of his face seemed to fall. They had both been hoping that there would be some reasonable and logical explanation for Adam's absence last night and for Paul's message. Now that they'd found their sibling half-slouched across the bar, there was no running from the truth.

With his sight locked on the object of their search, Hoss pushed out his chest and walked to the bar—Joe following behind him.

"Adam," he said calmly when he got to the counter, "we come to take ya home."

Adam didn't look up at them, but Hoss was pretty sure that their older brother had known it the minute they'd entered the saloon. Since they were kids, Adam had always been practically impossible to sneak up on. However, in his current state it might just be doable . . .

"All right. Let me just finish this," Adam said in a deep monotone.

A ripple of wrinkles appeared on Hoss' forehead as Adam lifted the half-full tankard of beer to his lips.

"What happened to your arm?" Joe suddenly asked and touched his shoulder, trying to turn him around a bit to get a better look.

Adam bounced his shoulder to remove Joe's hand. "It's nothing."

"It sure don't look like nothin'."

"Just leave it, okay?" Adam snapped and finally faced his siblings.

Instantly, Hoss' chest grew tight, painfully so. He'd known Adam his whole life and through all those years, he'd never seen his brother look the way he did now. Tangled hair, scruffy beard and red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes—filled with pain, with sadness.

Whatever Hoss' expression was at that moment, it clearly struck Adam in some way because the glint of annoyance in his eyes vanished. Instead, they became uncertain and flickered away, back to the beer between his hands.

"Sport down at the livery stable?" Hoss asked when he got his mouth functioning again.

"Yea." Adam's chin lowered. "I think so . . ."

Nodding, Hoss turned to their younger brother because difficult as it was for _him_ to see Adam this way, he knew it must be even harder for Joe.

"Joe, you go on down to the livery stable and get ol' Sport. Me and Adam will be ready to go when ya come back."

Joe forced his gaze away from Adam, and Hoss patted his back. The youngest brother was either too confused or too worried, or maybe both, and he didn't argue.

"Yea, okay . . ."

With another look directed at Adam's back, Joe walked away from the bar, clutching his hat against his front, his steps slow and heavy.

Once Joe had left the saloon, Hoss faced Adam and waited for him to say something. It wasn't long before the expected question came.

"Is Pa with you?"

"Yea. He's . . . outside talkin' to Roy."

Adam released a chuckling snort. "Well . . . that's just perfect."

When it seemed like he was preparing to down his drink, Hoss decided to take a risk and asked, "Ya talk to Madeline yet . . .?"

"Don't ask me about Madeline right now, Hoss."

A pained look came over his face and he stared down at the counter-top. But Hoss couldn't take seeing him like that and he bent towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder even though Joe's had been shrugged away just minutes ago.

"Dadburnit, Adam . . . this ain't like you. It ain't like ya at all."

"No . . . no, it's not."

"Ya gotta stop this, brother. Pa and Little Joe are gettin' real worried, ya gotta start takin' care of yurself better."

"I'm sorry, Hoss," Adam suddenly said, his voice becoming thick and slightly slurred as his sight stayed trained on the bar-counter.

"Don't go bein' sorry." Hoss gave his shoulder an affectionate shake. "Just quit bein' so stubborn and let us help ya, all right?"

"I'm just so tired . . ."

"Yea, I reckon ya must be. So, let's get you on home so you can sleep." Hoss gently but firmly extracted the tankard from Adam's hand and his nose wrinkled. "A bath wouldn't do ya no harm neither . . ."

A little surprisingly, Adam's mouth curved ever so slightly at that and Hoss' heart flooded with warmth at the sight, so he went on, "Throw in a shave and maybe a hair cut and ya might start to look like Adam Cartwright a bit again."

The hinted smile grew close to his usual half-smile and Adam blinked and raised his head. "Yea, yea, okay . . ."

Grinning mildly, Hoss stepped away from the bar. "What do ya say we get outta this here stuffy room, we can sit outside in the fresh air instead?"

He didn't bother waiting for an answer, Hoss just took his wayward sibling's good arm and began maneuvering him to the batwing doors.

Adam had never been the heavy-drinking type and when he did drink, it was always hard to tell how drunk he actually was. But by the way he wobbled when they'd taken just a few steps, Hoss knew that he hadn't seen him this affected by liquor in a long time. But then the exhaustion and lack of sleep undoubtedly played in too and he didn't know if Adam had been given some sort of medicine by Paul for whatever had happened to his arm. The neat bandaging had undoubtedly been done by the doctor and Paul's message also made sense now.

As they got to the batwing doors, Adam seemed more stable and once they were outside, Hoss hoped that the light summer breeze in the air would clear his head. When he moved over to the boardwalk railing and surveyed the street, Hoss chose to give him some space, but stayed near.

It was typical of Adam—when he was troubled or sad, he needed room around him—space to think, just by himself. Hoss had always accepted and understood that about him, but there were certain things he just plain disagreed with. Like Adam's belief that he needed to handle difficult problems _alone_. Smart and educated as older brother was, he really had some harebrained ideas sometimes. It didn't come easily to him, asking for help, not even from his own family and that's where Hoss knew him better than anyone else, except for maybe their pa. With Adam, the key was always to know when to push and when to back off.

"Oh, great . . ."

Adam's dark mutter made Hoss go up beside him. A wince crossed his face when he saw what his sibling had. Their father and the sheriff were marching down the road—towards the saloon. Their pa was pulling Buck along behind him, looking a mixture of irritated and concerned. Roy was actually drilling Adam with a stare which Hoss thought was proving pretty effective even from that distance. The sheriff was also carrying Adam's gun-belt in one hand and his black Stetson in the other.

"I did wonder where my hat and gun had gone . . ." Adam mumbled.

"Ya lost your horse, your gun, yur hat, ya ended up at doc's and now Roy . . ." Hoss scratched his neck. "Doggonit, what happened last night, Adam?"

Adam firmed his jaw and spread his feet further apart to widen his stance. "I think you're about to get the whole story."

He held the sheriff's eyes as the older man came closer and Roy's nostrils were flaring wider and wider. Hoss could almost imagine little puffs of smoke coming out of the sheriff's reddening ears and he suddenly wasn't sure if he even wanted to be around for this confrontation. And it occurred to him, that taking up drinking before noon maybe wasn't such a bad idea after all.

xXXx

Almost ten minutes later, Hoss and Joe were outside the barbershop where Sport and Cochise stood tied to the hitching rail. Joe had taken a seat on the rail, his feet tapping restlessly on the ground and Hoss was leaning back against it with his hands supporting him. They were both watching the proceedings across the street where Adam, their Pa and Roy Coffee still stood outside the Silver Dollar.

Once Roy's initial tirade had come to a seething close, Hoss had decided that the other side of the street was a much safer and more peaceful place to be for the moment. And he'd needed a bit of peace and quiet to think through everything he'd heard.

After learning what had happened in town the previous night, he was stumped by the events and even more baffled by his older brother's uncharacteristic behavior. When Joe had come riding up the road with Sport tagging along, Hoss had waved him over and filled him in on everything. The thing they'd talked most about was the fight that Adam had gotten into with Fred Clayton and the fact that their sensible sibling had taken the first punch which—as Roy evidently saw it—had _started_ the brawl involving over thirty cowboys. It was a new record in town, apparently.

"Sounds more like something I'd do . . ." Joe muttered, studying the scene on the other side of the road.

"Yup. Sure does," Hoss said, looking at the same sight.

"Well, I mean, obviously I'd have a reason for it . . . a good one."

"Sure ya would, shortshanks."

Across the street, Roy was still red-faced, occasionally pointing a finger at Adam or flinging one or both hands out to his sides as if he were giving some sort of odd directions. Every now and then, his voice would rise up again and Hoss and Joe—as well as any passing civilians—could catch certain parts of sentences like, _"disturbin' the peace!"_ or _"runnin' off on me!"_ and one in particular that kept coming up, _"told ya to stay put!"_

Ben was trying to act the peacekeeper and had one hand on Adam's shoulder and another on Roy's most of the time. It hadn't surprised either of the two younger brothers that although their father definitely disapproved of Adam's part in the roughhousing last night, he had more or less jumped to his defense in the discussion with Roy. After all, everyone knew what kind of man Fred Clayton was, and the sheriff did too for that matter. Besides, Ben Cartwright did not take kindly to someone drawing a knife on one of his sons.

Adam was, unsurprisingly, standing completely erect with an air of nonchalance about him as he listened to Roy. Actually, it didn't even look like he'd moved at all during the last ten minutes. He'd just managed to give his own version of the events, or at least of the parts he remembered, before Roy had cut him off again. Hoss knew just how tired Adam was though, and he feared that his brother would lose his temper if Roy didn't finish up this drawn-out scolding soon.

"Hey, Hoss, Joe" a voice suddenly said, "Say, what happened to Adam? That a bandage on his arm?"

Hoss and Joe saw Clem from the post office standing beside the hitching post next to them, also squinting over at the Silver Dollar. The brothers let out double-sighs.

"It's a long story, Clem. I'm sure you'll hear about it around town soon enough," Hoss said and noticed the envelopes the man was holding. "What ya got there?"

"Oh!" Clem's head shot back to them. "I spotted you sitting here when I stepped outside the office and I wanted to give you this mail here, a couple of messages for Adam." Clem tapped the papers against the palm of his other hand. "You know, he was coming in every day to check if I'd gotten any letters or wires from Washington D.C. Said he was expectin' a reply from some of his friends. And then he just stopped coming in to check at all!" With an exasperated noise, Clem shuffled the envelopes around. "Now I got this letter for him lying around and a telegram came in an hour ago for him, also from Washington."

"I reckon Adam just plain forgot, he's been a little preoccupied," Hoss said and stretched out a hand. "We'll give 'em to him, Clem."

Clem handed over the letter and telegram. "All right, well, say hello to him from me and to your pa too."

"We will, see ya around Clem," Joe said as the man gave a little wave and walked back towards the post office.

"I really hope there's some good news for him in there . . ." Joe nodded at the mail and pushed himself up from the hard rail, massaging the small of his back.

"Me too," Hoss said. "I reckon they must be about his friend that Henry fella. Adam was waitin' for some kinda confirmation that he'd come out here to visit . . ."

Meanwhile across the road, the extended discussion had finally come to an end. Ben was untying Buck's and Chub's reins while Adam waited and although Roy's appearance wasn't exactly happy, he definitely looked more composed. The three exchanged a few parting words before the sheriff went the other direction down the street and the two Cartwrights headed towards the barbershop. Ben kept close to his son as Adam walked listlessly with a slight stagger. It was probably a bit of a wonder that he was even still on his feet and Ben was more than ready to get him back to the Ponderosa. They could deal with everything that had happened when they got home. The father certainly had a few things to say about it all but he would bite his tongue for now.

They came over to Hoss and Joe, and he gave them a tiny head-shake, conveying that now wasn't the time for questions. It wasn't really necessary though because anyone could see how completely drained Adam was. A loud whinny from Sport caught everyone by surprise except for Adam and he walked straight past his brothers and over to his displeased horse.

"Sorry, boy . . ."

His family watched him intently, similar worried thoughts going through their minds but Adam just kept his attention on his mount. Finally, Ben spoke as normally as possible above the background-noise of neck-patting and dissatisfied horse-snorting. "Well, it looks like we're ready to head home." He noted the envelopes Hoss had. "Did you get the mail?"

"Uh, no Pa, Clem brought 'em." Hoss held the messages out towards his brother. "There's a letter here for ya and a telegram, Adam."

Some of the light seemed to come back to those dulled hazel pools and his drooping shoulders lifted a little when Adam moved back over to his brothers and father. He took the mail and glanced at the letter but frowned when he saw the telegram. The reason was obvious to the others because they also saw that the wire was marked "urgent" with red letters. Adam's dark eyebrows crept lower as he cautiously opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. He unfolded it and what followed was a moment he and his family would never forget. He took one look at the message—one, brief, fleeting look—then he sucked in a breath, tipped his face up to the sky and mumbled, "No . . . no . . ."

Turning his back to them, he walked a couple of shaky feet away, bringing one hand up to his temple under his hat while the other fell down, still clutching the telegram and letter.

"What is it?" Ben asked anxiously, dropping Buck's reins as he hastily strode towards Adam. Hoss and Joe stood dead-still, cold dread wrapping around them while their pa went to their brother. As soon as Ben put his hands on Adam's shoulders, he tried to pull away, but the father held fast.

"What's happened?"

Adam just shook his head, his palm pressing against his temple and Ben reached down to pry the papers from his son's fingers. He glanced at the telegram, much like Adam had just done and the first two words made his breath catch in his throat.

 **Adam Cartwright**

 **The Ponderosa**

 **Virginia City, Nevada**

Henry dead (STOP) death by suicide (STOP) nothing anyone could have done (STOP) letter arriving for you soon (STOP) sorry, friend (STOP)

 **James Farrel**

 **Fort Lesley J. McNair, Washington D.C.**

Joe and Hoss saw their father stare at the message for a second, then his eyes squeezed shut. Unable to bear the tension of not knowing, Joe was about to go over there, but Hoss grabbed his arm.

"No, Joe. Give them a moment."

The expression on their pa's face was one of utter anguish and when he looked at Adam again, he simply stood there in silence beside his son—as if he didn't know what to say. The two younger brothers couldn't see Adam's face, but he was quiet, his back rising and falling in an even motion as he carefully kept rubbing the side of his head.

Ben leaned towards him and laid a hand on the nape of his neck.

"I'm so sorry, son . . ." he said softly.

Adam only gave an imperceptible nod. And there really wasn't anything else to say just then. For Ben, the most important thing was now getting his boy back home, so he gently turned Adam around and steered him back towards the hitching post.

"Joseph, get the horses ready."

Joe promptly went to untie Sport's and Cochise's reins while Ben wordlessly held out the letter and telegram to his middle son. Hoss almost didn't want to take the wire and he wavered before he did. When he'd read the first words, his head snapped back up in shock and he stared at his father. They shared a long, unblinking look and both saw the looming despair mirrored in each other's faces. The father turned to his eldest again, keeping an anchoring grip on Adam's nape and shoulder. But he wasn't sure if his son was taking any of it in.

When Joe came over with Sport, Ben let go of Adam so he could mount up. He did so without help despite his injured arm and he then sat still in the saddle, waiting. His eyes were inexpressive, his demeanor almost dull and it didn't seem like he was even really aware of what he was doing. The others mounted up and faced the buggy-filled street.

"Let's go home," Ben said quietly.

As they rode out of town, he remained just beside Adam while Hoss hung back with Joe to tell him the tragic news. Once the shock had settled, Joe's heart ached with sorrow and he too feared how this was going to affect their already depressed brother.

There was hardly any conversation between the four men the whole ride home. They rode slower than usual too, so it took longer, but they stayed close together.

Throughout the whole thing, Adam didn't shed a single tear. There was no chin-trembling, no rapid breathing, no shaking voice. He just sat in the saddle, the reins dangling in his slack hands. It was like the grief hadn't touched him on the outside yet, instead it was on the inside. Along with everything else.

* * *

Madeline stopped by the front door of her uncle's house and aimed a last look at the man sitting on the other side of the street. She'd just realized that he wasn't even bothering to hide in one of the alleys today. He was sat in the shade of the tin-roof covering above the boardwalk where he could be most comfortable watching the house. When he tipped his hat at her in a smug manner, she gave him a withering stare. Then she wheeled back around to the door, opened it and went inside. The door slammed shut with more force than she'd intended and she fell back against it, breathing deeply—her chest feeling as though it was about to burst open. A sudden sob of despair surged up her throat and it got out before she could stop it with the palm of her hand. Her uncle's voice called from his office.

"Madeline? Is that you?"

Lowering her hand down to her breast, she fought to bring her voice under control.

"Yes, Uncle Paul, it's only me."

She quickly locked the front door and went to the doorway of her uncle's office just as he came out into the hall. He took off his glasses and tilted his head sideways in question. "Did the front door bother you in some way?"

"No, I'm sorry, I lost my grip on the door handle and it just flew shut," she said and began untying the ribbon of her bonnet under her chin, her eyes directed downwards.

Paul crossed his arms. "You're home very late . . ."

"Yes, I'm afraid that the restaurant is—"

" _Very busy at the moment_. Yes, yes, so I've heard."

Madeline shifted uncertainly and found a way of avoiding her uncle's assessing gaze by glancing into the office instead.

"You have been working late too, I see . . ."

His desk was littered with papers, medical books and folders and in the middle of the chaos stood a big pot of coffee and his favorite cup. Paul also looked into the room and rested back against the door-frame, pressing two fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it's been one long day." His eyelids fluttered when he faced his niece again, bleary-eyed. "I only just sent my last patient home ten minutes ago and now I have hours of paperwork waiting."

"Oh . . ." Sympathy-creases formed on her forehead as she took in the faint pockets between his lower eyelids and the upper part of his cheeks. "I'll make you some fresh coffee while I get supper going then."

Doing her best to hide her own fatigue, she walked over to the hall stand by the doorway to the sitting room.

"Well. Aren't we even going to mention him anymore now?"

Madeline's hands froze on her bonnet. Tentatively, she lifted the hat and laid it down on the hall stand along with her purse. When she turned around again, there was a watery shine to her eyes and her voice held the barest quiver as she spoke.

" . . . How was he, uncle Paul?"

Paul cleared his throat and uncrossed his arms, walking over to her. "He wasn't too well, Madeline. And I think you know that."

"Did . . . did his family come here?"

Madeline felt her stomach clench with unease when he didn't answer her straight away and all sorts of possible reasons for his hesitance started whizzing around her mind. It made her feel dizzy and things only got worse when her uncle regarded her with concern. "No, but I sent a message out to them, I'm sure he's home now with them . . . are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I'm—"

Her lashes swept down when he suddenly felt her brow with the back of his hand. The touch was soft and cool, comforting.

"You're a little warm . . ." He took her arm and before she knew it, she was escorted into the sitting room. When he brought her over to the settee, she started to protest.

"No, I must start supper, it's already late—"

"Madeline, you've had hardly any sleep, you've worked the entire day and you weren't even well to begin with."

With his help, she sank down in the soft cushions and vaguely wondered how she was ever going to stand up again. Now that she was sitting and resting after such a night and day, her legs were so numb it was as if they didn't even belong to her. The beckoning pillows behind her were just too tempting and she slowly leaned back against them. All the stress she'd been carrying around for days now had settled as a soreness that spread over every inch of her tired body. Before long, her head lolled slightly to the side. She couldn't remember ever being this exhausted in her life.

"Little Belle?"

" . . . Mmmh, yes?"

Her voice sounded like it was coming from some distant place and she was only half-aware that the soothing something going on at the top of her head was her uncle stroking her hair.

"Besides the fact that you're completely dead on your feet, do you have any symptoms I should know about?" Paul frowned. "I'm worried now, Madeline . . ."

His last words made her concentrate enough to give the needed reassurance.

"I have a headache and I feel a little weak, but it's just because I'm so tired, uncle . . ."

He pulled her closer to him and they sat on the settee together as quiet fell around them. Madeline felt herself drifting off when her uncle's voice tickled her ear.

"I'm going out to the Ponderosa tomorrow to see to Adam's arm."

Her eyes opened and she straightened up. "See to his arm? But you said he would be all right . . ."

"Mm-hmm, and I'm still confident he will be. _If_ he takes proper care of it. And I've learned from experience that he needs to be told several times."

"Oh . . ."

She settled back down again, but her eyes stayed open.

"I just thought perhaps you'd like to come along with me . . .?" Paul asked with barely concealed hope in his tone.

This time, Madeline wavered before answering. "I can't . . ."

Her head lifted a little on her uncle's shoulder when he inhaled a long, deep breath.

"Madeline, I saw the look on your face while you sat with him last night," he said gently. "I know that you love him . . ."

"Yes, I love him . . . and that's why things must be this way." Her throat was closing up and she pushed her cheek against his shoulder. "Please, Uncle Paul . . ."

She was too tired to think, to talk, to do anything. In this state, she might just end up saying what she couldn't—what she desperately wanted to. But then maybe she should. Just say it out loud. Maybe it really was the only way out of this mess. One thing was certain, she couldn't go on like this for much longer. And what a relief it would be to _tell . . ._

Paul gave in for now and said nothing more, but she knew he wasn't going to let the matter go. The last thing she was aware of, just before sleep overcame her, was his loving touch as he stroked her hair.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hello guys! I apologize to you all again for the delay... I always try to write to the best of my ability and this was a TOUGH one to get through, for the characters (poor Adam) as well as myself! When I'm describing emotions, my own mindset and personal life does tend to "touch" my writing in certain ways, so this chapter feels extra special._

 _Well, I really hope it works and that you enjoy it._

 _Your amazing reviews mean the world to me and they truly brighten up my day, thank you all so much. Knowing that some of you are eagerly awaiting more chapters is tremendously encouraging. I am actually currently in Greece on a much needed vacation, but fear not, the next chapter is well under way! :)_

 _Thanks again everyone._

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

When dawn broke the next day, it wasn't bright and sunny as every morning had been up until now in August. This morning was dark and gloomy. Yesterday had held a light breeze like the soft breath of summer, but today, it had picked up and become a harsh wind, blowing up the dirt, stirring the leaves on the trees. Lead-colored clouds hung like drapes above the land; hovering over every hill and valley like one huge, depressing expanse of grey without end or beginning. The sun stood no chance against those looming masses. They blocked out its brightness and warmth and kept the usually vivid hues of the countryside muted, leaving only dreariness.

At the Ponderosa ranch, the horses in the corral paused their grazing when a buggy came into the yard. The weather was making the animals a little jittery, and some snorted through their nostrils, scraping their hooves against the ground. One mount with a shiny reddish-brown coat and a white blaze running down the middle of its face strayed away from the others and approached the corral fence to get a closer look at the newcomer.

Paul parked the buggy outside the house and laid the reins down by his feet. He stretched a hand down beneath the seat to get out his black doctor's bag and glanced up at the sky above him. The foggy shroud overhead had an oppressive weight to it and the damp scent of rain hung in the air like an invisible promise. Rain was coming, and it was more than likely that he would be caught up in the impending downpour on his way back to town later. Weather and moods. It was odd how often the two seemed to go together.

The doctor tiredly climbed down from the buggy, took his bag and stepped onto the porch. He knocked on the front door and as he waited, the thought came to him that the last time he'd been in the Cartwright house was that day when Madeline had finally revealed her past. The weeks that had passed since then were now strangely timeless and he was still no closer to grasping how the current upsetting situation had come about.

It was the patriarch of the Cartwrights who opened the door, and Paul immediately frowned at his old friend's appearance.

"Paul . . . it's good to see you." A little hint of relief lightened the heaviness in Ben's eyes and he stood back, motioning for the doctor to come inside. "Come in."

"Good morning, Ben," Paul said, walking inside. "I know it's a little early, but I'm going to be busy doing house-calls the rest of the day in town and I wanted to come by and check on Adam's arm before."

"Yes, all right. I appreciate you coming out here."

The two men went to the sitting room and Paul saw that none of the Cartwright sons were around. He set his bag on the floor and dropped down into the blue chair.

"Where are the boys?"

"Hoss and Joe took a ride up to the lake." Ben grabbed the coffee pot on the table and began filling a cup with the steaming drink. "I thought it would be good for them to get out of the house for a bit."

Nodding his thanks, Paul took the proffered coffee. "And Adam . . .?"

Ben's shoulders lifted, and his neck sank lower as he refilled his own cup. "Since we came home yesterday morning he hasn't left his room. He just sits in there on his own, drinking and brooding." Ben sat down in the red chair, his features drooping. "I don't know what to do, Paul . . ."

The coffee cup hadn't quite made it to the doctor's mouth. He held it in the air, his hand frozen by his chin. ". . . Did you say he's _still_ drinking?"

"Yes." Ben rubbed at the dark smudges under his eyes. "Yesterday when we got to town, I met up with Roy and he told me everything about the brawl at the Bucket of Blood, about Adam going to your house in the middle of the night. We got your message too and Hoss and Joe found him at the Silver Dollar." There was a little pause and Ben's dark eyes seemed to turn almost black. "Just as we were about to head home, Adam received a telegram and it was very bad news . . ." He looked straight at the doctor. "One of his good friends from the army has committed suicide."

Paul's mouth opened slightly, and he gaped at the worried father. Then he lowered the coffee cup to his lap, exhaling heavily. He'd been concerned about Adam as it was, and a tragedy like this was the last thing the young man needed to be faced with.

"I've tried to give him time and space this past week, since the whole thing with Madeline started, but he's only gotten worse and now with the news yesterday . . ." Ben shook his head. "I've never seen him like this before . . ."

A somber silence enveloped the room, broken only by the first few drops of rain hitting the window in the dining room. Suddenly, Paul put his cup down on the table with a clink—powerlessness mingled with frustration coming through in his tone. "I just don't understand what on earth has happened here while I've been away!"

"I'm at a loss too." Ben rested his chin on one fist. "The day after you left, Madeline sent a letter out here to Adam, telling him that she needed some time to herself for a while. He went to see her, and she told him not to come by again. He took her rejection very badly and I know he thinks he has done something wrong. When I talked with him, he admitted that he had been a bit preoccupied and inattentive after finding out about her marriage and husband." The creases dug deeper into Ben's forehead as he went on. "You saw the look on his face that day when it all came out . . ."

"Yes, I feared something like that might happen. And I told him then—not to let her past get between." Elbows on his knees, Paul bent forward in the chair and his eyes were bright with urgency. "But Ben, that _can't_ be the reason why she has pushed him away. You won't find a more understanding or considerate person than that niece of mine and she has handled his moods before. It just—" The doctor massaged the back of his neck. "It makes no sense to me. No sense at all."

"How is Madeline?" Ben asked quietly. "I haven't seen her at all since that day. . ."

A shadow settled on Paul's face as his mouth curved downwards. "I'm very worried about her. She's ill, but she won't admit—she is withdrawn and quiet. I came home late on Monday and I was so busy with patients all through yesterday that I haven't gotten her to talk to me yet. But I can tell she's holding something back, I just don't understand what it is or why. At least I convinced her to take half the day off work today, so she'll be leaving the restaurant early."

Ben looked across at the doctor, and the honest sympathy was evident in the way he spoke. "I'm sorry to hear that, Paul. I've been thinking about her a lot too and I'm sure she has a lot on her mind. I guess we can only hope that she'll talk to you and tell you what has caused her this upset."

A hum of agreement vibrated from Paul's throat.

Leaning his head back against the chair's backrest, Ben's gaze wandered to the top of the staircase. "The thing that has me most worried about Adam . . . is that this depressed state he's in goes deeper than I originally thought. Whatever that _something_ was that Madeline gave him . . . now that he doesn't have her, it's like he's gone even further into that dark place that we know he's struggled with before. And we just can't seem to pull him out of it . . ." The father's eyes became slightly glassy, as if his thoughts had climbed the stairs, taken his awareness with them.

As much as Paul wanted to, he couldn't offer words of comfort to his friend. He had none to give. The two had known each other for so long that Ben would see straight through any reassurance-act. Instead, the doctor reached out to take his coffee.

"I'll go up and see him as soon as I've finished this."

Quiet fell around the two again as they sat in each of their chairs, their faces long and pensive, listening to the light gushes of wind hitting the window.

xXXx

With determined steps, Paul strode down the hall. He was very familiar with this particular hallway, just as he was with all of the four bedrooms. Being a doctor, he did tend to get around in people's homes, but the Cartwright homestead was definitely the one he'd visited the most over the years. Those three boys seemed to have been born with a special—and equally exasperating—knack for getting into trouble. While Little Joe's room was usually the one he was called to, Adam's had always been the runner up, at least before the war.

Paul stopped outside the only closed door and without hesitating, gave it three brisk knocks. There was no response. Well aware that he would receive no more invitation than that, he grasped the door handle and pushed the door open.

The room was stuffy, and that distinctive smell of alcohol mixed with sweat prickled in the air. It was quite dark, only the faint light from the outside world of grey came in through the two windows.

Across the room over by the desk, Adam sat slumped in a chair with his left arm cradled against his side. His black shirt was buttoned down almost to his belly and he was barefooted, his head tipped back as he stared up at nothing. Despite Ben's subtle warnings, Paul found himself unprepared as he took in the state of the young man. If possible, Adam looked even worse than when he'd seen him the previous morning.

It became apparent to the doctor that his friend hadn't even noticed his arrival, so he brought a fist up to his mouth and harrumphed. The noise made Adam turn his head, and a flash of alertness entered his eyes—grew into tentative hope as he put his hands on the chair's armrests to push himself up. It was painfully clear to Paul though, the moment Adam realized that Paul had come _alone,_ and the young man fell back in the chair, turned his face away and reached for a bottle standing on his desk.

"What do you want, Paul . . ."

Paul left the door ajar and calmly walked further into the room. "Well, it's nice to see you too, and how are you this morning?"

"I'm not in the mood. Just say what you came to say and close the door behind you."

Adam lifted the bottle to his lips, and whatever liquor was in that thing, Paul was pretty sure it wasn't meant to be consumed in such a manner.

"Naturally, I came out to take a look at your arm. It wasn't just a little nick, you know."

"Fine . . . do what you want."

Paul threw a sweeping look around the disordered room. Pieces of clothing hung across the dresser and a chair, the desk was littered with books and papers—letters it looked like—and a variety of empty bottles and more letters lay on the bed among the rumpled covers. He walked closer, carrying his black bag.

"I see you're having yourself quite the time."

Adam didn't comment on that. Not that the doctor had expected him to. Moving a few of the bottles and papers to the side, Paul created a little space for himself and took a seat on the side of the bed, facing his friend. He nodded at the bandaged arm.

"Well, I _was_ going to ask you if it's been giving you a lot of pain, but that question seems rather irrelevant now."

Still no reply. With his good arm, Adam shoved some of the items around on his overfilled desk and uncovered a brandy glass that had been knocked over. He stood the glass up and looked over at the doctor, lifting the bottle in question.

Paul's brows knitted together. "It's a little early for me."

Adam shrugged and poured the drink. "Suit yourself."

He had gulped down the entire contents of the full glass in a matter of seconds and swallowed laboriously, gritting his teeth. Then he glanced over at the doctor.

"Oh, don't give me that look Paul," he said with a warning glare, replacing the glass on the desk. "I don't even know what you're doing here—I would have thought you'd be at home rejoicing! I have no part in her life anymore, it's exactly what you wanted all along, isn't it?"

Paul didn't even blink. "I'm going to disregard every word that just left your mouth." Casually, he placed his bag on the bed next to him and beckoned Adam closer with a quick hand motion. "Would you, please?"

Adam didn't move at first and the doctor sensed that there was a lot of jaw-clenching going on under that dark beard. Finally, the young man's mouth tightened into a stubborn straight line and he grabbed the liquor bottle with his right hand, half-stood and dragged the chair closer to the bed with a very unpleasant screeching sound. He sat down again and thrust his bandaged arm towards the doctor, his eyes directed out at the rest of the room. Paul was surprised at just how much Adam reminded him of a fourteen-year-old Little Joe at that instant. A lip-pout was really the only thing missing . . .

Nothing was said between them as the doctor worked. He unwrapped the bandage and he had no doubt that if Adam hadn't been numbed by the alcohol, it would be a very painful injury right about now. But it looked clean and the stitches were holding, so he carefully wrapped the arm in a fresh bandage. Adam just peered sightlessly at the window opposite him.

As Paul finished up and closed his bag, his line of sight fell to some of the letters on the bed. He realized that they all seemed to be from Adam's friends in the military and it was also then that the doctor noticed some dark-blue material lying up by the head of the bed. A dark-blue uniform. A Union captain's uniform.

"You've been reminiscing?" he asked.

"Mmh." Adam released a low chuckle, but it was empty, without humor. "Bad idea though. Only made me feel worse."

Paul watched as he took another lazy swig of the bottle, the liquid sloshing inside the glass.

"I'm sorry about your friend, lad . . ."

For a brief second, Paul saw that mask of impassiveness faulter as Adam's chin lowered to his chest. But he veiled his emotions quickly again and leaned the bottle on his thigh, clearing his throat.

"He was a good man. I should've seen it coming."

"Adam, he must have been laboring under a great deal of mental stress . . . with people like that, it's never easy to tell—"

"I still should have known," Adam said, unfeeling. "He wasn't a coward, you know. He wasn't insane. What Henry did . . . well, it wasn't anything most other soldiers I've met haven't thought about doing at one time or another."

" . . . I realize that this must be difficult." Paul studied him intently. "I know that you're no stranger to loss . . ."

Adam's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "No, it seems like whatever I do . . . loss and I . . ." He trailed off, his voice taking on a strange tone—trance-like, distant. "When I think about all that my father lost, coming out here . . . it's like it follows me too, always has. But then maybe, I brought it on myself. You join a war, you're gonna lose friends. But at least you're not alone."

He sighed, and it was the kind of tired sigh that came from somewhere deep within a person, as if torn straight from the very soul. "Sometimes I wonder if I'd be better off just going away . . ."

The words lingered, dangerously, and Paul's eyes narrowed to slits.

"I sincerely hope that by _going away_ you don't mean something . . . _permanent_ . . ."

"I'm . . ." Adam hesitated—looked down—and the doctor wished he could tell what his friend was thinking just then. What was it he saw in that worn face? Confusion, yes, and pain, but something else too. _Shame?_

Whatever it was, Adam covered it up again. "Thanks for coming, doc," he said softly. "Close the door behind you, will you?"

It was a dismissal if ever Paul had heard one and just like that, he'd been shut out. He felt incredibly old as he stood from the bed and when he picked up his bag, it seemed heavier in his hand than when he'd carried it to the room. He walked to the open door, his feet dragging along the floor.

"Paul . . . don't tell my father I said that."

Paul stopped, and his eyes closed, but he didn't turn back around.

"Don't make me live with the regret that I didn't, Adam."

Then he walked out into the hall and did as he'd been told. He closed the door behind him.

 **xXXx**

The doctor's face was set in grim lines when he came back down the stairs to the sitting room. Ben paced around by the fireplace with his hands folded behind his back, but he stopped when he glanced up and saw the doctor.

"Well?" he asked as soon as Paul reached the bottom of the staircase.

"We need to do something, Ben. This is beyond my powers to fix."

"My God, Paul, I know, but what?! What can we do?" Ben raked a hand through his hair and took a few steps away before spinning back around. "Can't you talk to Madeline?"

"I'm going to have to," Paul said, his expression fixed and serious. "She doesn't know he's this bad. And whatever is going on with her at the moment, she's still very much in love with him, that's a fact."

"I agree. We need her to come and see him, get them talking with each other again, then I'm sure things will get better. They just have to."

"Yes . . ." Paul mumbled, "for both their sakes."

Straightening his vest, the doctor squared his shoulders and walked towards the front door with Ben beside him. "I'll try to talk to her today, so we can come out here tomorrow." A thought suddenly struck him, and he stopped by the front door, pursing his lips. "It's Thursday tomorrow, isn't it? Wasn't there supposed to be something going on in town . . .?"

"Thursday . . ." Ben stroked his chin. "The annual rodeo is tomorrow . . . I completely forgot. The boys had planned on going to it, at least Hoss and Joe had." He glimpsed back at the stairs. "I doubt Adam will want to though."

"Yes, all right, we'll have to see. If I can convince Madeline, we'll come out here sometime tomorrow afternoon."

"Thanks, Paul."

With one hand on the brass door handle, Ben pulled the door open but both men stayed standing in the doorway, astonished by the sight that met them. Because just then, the sky seemed to burst with a thundering crack, and the clouds finally dropped their loads as a thick sheet of rain poured down.

Ben shifted and put a hand on the doctor's back. "You better wait here until the worst is over . . . you can't ride home in this."

"No, I suppose you're right," Paul said, his posture deflating. This day just couldn't get any worse. "I hope it doesn't last too long, I have a lot of patients to see today on top of everything else . . ." He frowned. "What about Hoss and Joe?"

"I'm sure they've found somewhere to hold up, there's a cabin up by the lake . . ." Ben went back to take his hat from the hook on the wall. "If you go in and get another pot of coffee going, I'll put the buggy in the barn."

"Yes . . . all right."

Paul remained in the doorway as Ben walked out onto the porch.

Out across the yard, the rain lashed against the ground with such force that the drops bounced up again and carried on the gusting wind to some unknown destination. A coldness crept down from the dark layer above, giving off a din of sorrow and all other noises drowned out as Mother Nature exploded.

Weather and moods . . .

As he stood there watching the heavens rupturing, Paul was suddenly reminded of something Adam had said about rain many years ago. It was about a week after Marie had died and it had been raining steadily for three whole days. Everyone was sick of it. Adam had been sixteen at the time; just a boy himself, yet responsible for two grieving younger brothers aged eleven and five, in the midst of tragedy. Soaking wet, the young man had shown up on the doctor's front porch because he was worried about his deeply depressed father. They had talked, Paul had given him a mild sedative to give to Ben and they'd then stood together, stared out at the rain as it whipped down onto Virginia City's C Street. Paul had made some comment about the continuous, dreadful downpour—he didn't even remember what it was now. But he would never forget Adam's muted response.

" _When rain falls like that, it's as if it intends to wash us all away, doc. It keeps pounding down . . . relentlessly, as though it's trying to beat people down just like it beats plants into the soil. Rain like that . . . it'll leave a person drenched in their own misery."_

* * *

Madeline sat in the dim kitchen with yet another cup of tea-gone-cold between her hands. She knew she should be lying down, sleeping or resting at least, but the very idea of moving threatened to rob her of the little energy she had left. She sat motionless at the kitchen table, lost in the dark pit that had become her world.

It had stopped raining a couple of hours ago, but the cloudy veil lingered outside, keeping out the brightness of day and while it was only a few minutes past one o'clock, it looked more like late afternoon.

Her uncle had left early that morning to go out to the Ponderosa, to see Adam. He had asked her once more if she would go with him and she'd simply replied that she couldn't. She had been standing on the steps of the porch, watching the buggy disappear down the street through her blurring sight, when her voice almost betrayed her, almost called out to him again. If it hadn't been for the shadowed figure lurking across the street, she probably would have done just that. But she didn't. She stayed in Virginia City even though there was no place on earth she would rather be than with Adam.

The urgent need to see him was devouring her, inside and out, and she had never known such anguish in all her life. She knew he was hurting. She felt his suffering like a constant ache in her own heart and for the whole previous day and night, she had been unable to stop thinking about him. That image of him lying in her uncle's examination room, wounded and haggard, had been burned into her brain and even now, she could see the turmoil, the vulnerability in his eyes. Knowing that the man she loved was in pain and that she couldn't go to him . . . was slowly tearing her apart. By staying away from him, she was hurting him. But by getting too close, she might end up causing far more damage and just the thought of taking such a risk was enough to make her breathing speed up. And the thought of him getting injured or _killed_ seemed enough to drain the air from her lungs completely.

But God, she missed him so . . . his crooked half-smile, his strong arms around her, those soulful hazel eyes. Everything about him. She missed that feeling he gave her—the purest, most intricate feeling she'd ever experienced. Like something out of a dream. They had spent so much time together over the last almost two months and now, she couldn't imagine an existence without him.

On the night before her wedding to Ray, she remembered her mother telling her that a woman didn't have to be in love with a man to marry him. Marriage wasn't a matter of love, but a question of securing one's status and place in society—that was what she had been brought up to believe.

Adam had set her free from all that, and at the same time, he'd kept her anchored to him through his love, his strength and steady presence. Before him, she had been one lonely person, now she was just one half—incomplete without him—yet much more somehow than she had ever been on her own. He had her heart, wholly and truly, and she could never love anyone else as she did him.

A sudden wetness on her wrist made her look down at her hands clasping the tea cup. By the time she'd realized what it was, another lonely drop fell from her cheek and landed in the almost exact same spot.

Her uncle had implored her to leave the restaurant early today, but this was exactly what she hadn't wanted. To be alone in the house, with only her worries and fears to keep her company. She'd been over the situation so many times in her head, hoping to find some way out of this living nightmare—a way where no one would get hurt. Over and over, she'd pictured herself walking to the sheriff's office. Going straight in there, blurting everything out, asking for help. But every time she imagined that particular scenario, one moment would flash through her mind, and replay before her open eyes. That moment—Ray shaking her uncle's hand on the front porch.

Ray or _Mr. Barns_ as he'd called himself . . .

He had been so calm, and barely even spared her a glance as he addressed her uncle and the sheriff. And he had spoken differently, not with his Southern accent which she had come to despise, but with a polite and neutral cadence that was hard to place. She knew exactly what he had done and why. It had utterly terrified her at the time, but now when she thought back on it, the fact that he'd actually had the _nerve_ to do such a thing, slowly stirred her naturally mild temper.

So deep in her thoughts, Madeline startled in the chair when she heard someone at the front door. Her uncle was the only person other than herself who had a house key, so logically she knew it could only be him. It still took her a few seconds to calm her galloping heart though.

She stood up, tried to ignore the dizzy wave that swept over her and walked out into the hallway. She saw her uncle close the front door and set his bag down in the foyer.

"Uncle Paul . . . I was worried that you had gotten caught up in the weather."

"No, I hadn't yet left the ranch when it all began, so I stuck around until the worst had passed . . ." He swiftly shrugged out of his jacket. "I almost wish I hadn't now though, I don't know how I'm going to see all those patients today . . ."

He seemed very stressed, so Madeline went over to take the jacket from him and it was sodden, heavy in her hands. "Widow Brenner and Mr. Olsen came by, but I told them you would be over to see them as soon as possible."

"All right, let me just . . . gather myself."

Tugging at the little chain dangling down by his vest pocket, he pulled out his pocket-watch. He checked the time, nodded curtly at the little clock and then put the item back in its place before focusing his attention on her.

Madeline fought to keep her composure when he put his hands on her shoulders, his eyes trailing across her face in an assessing manner, just like when he was checking one of his patients. "How are you feeling? I'm glad to see that you're home early."

"Sally insisted that I left early too . . . I do feel better today, I'm just quite tired still."

"Just tired, are you sure that's all?" he pressed. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"Yes, I had a little something earlier . . ." Her lips formed a small smile. It was a poor excuse for one and she knew it, but it was the best she could do. "As I said, I do feel better, Uncle." She gingerly removed his hands from her shoulders. "I better hang this up, so it can dry . . ."

She made it halfway to the hall-stand when he spoke to her back.

"You can't keep avoiding this. He's in a bad way, Madeline . . ."

Her stomach clenched, and she immediately wheeled around. "How do you mean? His arm—"

"His friend committed suicide."

The blunt words seemed to reverberate between them. Madeline's face went ashen, and for a moment it felt as if every wisp of air had been smacked out of her where she stood, her countenance paralyzed by disbelief.

". . . What?" she whispered.

"His friend Henry killed himself." Her uncle walked towards her. "Adam found out about it yesterday."

The news sank in and almost dropped her to the hallway floor. She put one hand to her heart, struggling to speak as the weight in her chest locked her throat. "Oh, uncle Paul, he must be . . . he must—"

She pressed her lips together, and the little muscles in her chin vibrated. Weighed down by tears, her lashes blinked, releasing the tiny drops. She didn't resist when her uncle pulled her to him in a hug. Squashing the damp jacket between them.

"Yes, he . . . he's very unwell."

She heard his voice, but she couldn't understand what he said. Her ears heard, her eyes saw through the blur, but her mind was too full to take anything more in. There was only room for Adam.

What must he be going through right now? He had been so eager to see his friend again, how would he cope with this now? She _needed_ to go to him, there was no way she couldn't . . . oh, but _how_? How could she go without putting him at risk? Without putting her uncle at risk? As each second went by, despair ripped through her, wave after wave. It gulped her up and pulled her down with it, leaving her brain cobwebbed and her desperate thoughts tangled in it all.

The shiny pendulum of the grandfather clock in the foyer ticked each second away. It kept ticking in that constant, regular rhythm because time stopped for nothing and no one—not even shock or grief or heartbreak.

When her uncle eventually drew back, Madeline ducked her head, hugging the jacket to her front.

"I shouldn't have told you yet." He sounded almost angry with himself. "I'm sorry but . . . I can't stay here with you, I _have_ to see these patients today."

When she heard that note of worry which had become a constant in his voice lately, she forced herself to meet his gaze. "I know . . . it's all right . . ." Her fingers clutched the jacket harder. "I'll be all right, Uncle."

He didn't look convinced, but she had nothing more to give. "We'll talk about this later . . . when I get home. I want you to get some rest until then. Will you please do that, my Belle? For me?"

His whole face was pleading, not just his eyes.

"Yes, I'll try," she said.

There wasn't time for anything more, they were both aware of that and with a regretful look, he took his bag and went to the front door. On his way out, he stopped with one foot out on the porch and half-turned back. "He needs you, Madeline."

She never managed to reply because suddenly the door closed, and her uncle was gone. And she was alone in the house again. Out of all the things he had just said to her, it was the last four words that kept going around in her head. He was right, and she knew it.

xXXx

Joe walked across the yard, his feet aiming for the little patches of ground in between the numerous puddles. Hoss had offered to take care of the horses and Joe was more than happy to be free of that chore today. Reaching a hand up to the back of his head, he gave the brown locks a vigorous shake, sending tiny droplets flying in every direction. He hated how his hair got all frizzy after rain. It seemed to double in size, got to looking wild and untamable like a jungle.

He remembered back when he was a kid and Adam used to ride with him and Hoss to town to make sure they got to school—there had been one morning when it rained. Of course, his hair had reached new heights of disorganization, but it hadn't really bothered him much. That is, it hadn't bothered him until he got into the classroom and the other kids started teasing and making fun of him. Inevitably, it had ended with him getting into a fight, or well, it wasn't much of a fight really, because Joe was small for his age and the kid he poked in the mouth had one big group of friends. It was the first walloping he'd ever gotten in school and things probably would have gone a whole lot worse if Hoss hadn't shown up when he did.

A few weeks later, it had rained again on their way to school and Joe remembered Adam stopping just outside of town and keeping him back—telling Hoss to go on ahead without them. Joe had been sure that he was about to get a talking-to for something he'd done, but instead, his oldest brother simply spent a couple of silent minutes bringing his unruly chestnut-mop back in order before sending him off to school. And Adam had done the same thing again and again the next many times it rained.

He'd never commented on it, he just did it. That was older brother's way. Sometimes, Joe had complained about the fussing but secretly, he appreciated it. He had just never gotten around to telling Adam that.

The childhood memory stayed with him when Joe got to the porch and carried on towards the front door. He wondered if Adam even remembered doing that all those years ago. There had been plenty of opportunities for his oldest sibling to tease him about it since then, yet Adam never had. But then again, deep down, Joe knew why.

He opened the front door and walked inside the house, glad to leave the bleak outside behind. Halfway out of his soaked, green jacket, he sensed another presence in the room and spotted his oldest brother standing over by the drinks cabinet next to the dining room table—as if his own mind had conjured him up and put him there.

"Hi, Adam . . ."

Adam tossed a glance over his shoulder as he rummaged through the brandy glasses. "Hey, Joe."

After dropping his jacket across the backrest of the settee, Joe approached the dining room.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for something to drink," he mumbled and opened the lower cabinet doors.

Joe noticed the new bandage covering his arm. "Did the doc come by to see your arm?"

"Mmhh."

"Is it all right?"

It didn't seem like his sibling heard the question and Joe edged closer to him. "Adam?"

Adam raised his head and squinted at him. "Huh?"

"I asked if your arm was all right . . ."

"Oh . . . sure." He turned back to the cabinet. "Don't we have anything drinkable in here anymore?"

Bending down a little, Joe hoped to catch his attention, speaking patiently. "Adam, don't you think you should—"

"No. I don't."

The response was curt, uncompromising, and Adam kept ransacking the cupboard. Glass clinking and clanking against glass.

Haltingly, Joe straightened up and the strength seemed to ooze out of every single muscle in his body, all at once. A deep helplessness spread through him, numbing him, as a sense of impending futility reached around his throat, cutting off air. He stayed still, watching.

Adam looked like hell—he didn't even look like Adam anymore. Eyes rimmed red, pasty skin, hair and beard standing out every which way. His shirt, the same one from yesterday, hung loose and open and yes, he'd lost weight again. He wasn't supposed to look this way.

Although Joe wanted desperately to leave the room—leave the house even and go for another long ride—he was unable to move. The situation was suffocating him, and all he could do was stand as a helpless witness in the face of his brother's suffering.

"Finally . . ." Adam mumbled to himself and pulled out a small, crystal decanter from the cabinet. There was a healthy dose left in it, golden-brown in color. Whiskey.

But that proved too much for Joe. He felt that familiar heat start to crawl up his neck, the numbness in his body ebbed away and frustration took its place instead. He couldn't just stand there and watch this happen—this thing that Adam was doing to himself. He couldn't, and he _wouldn't_.

So, just as his brother had removed the stopper from the decanter to pour himself a drink, Joe whipped an arm out and snatched the carafe from his hand. He drew in a breath and tried to imitate the authority their father's voice always held. "No, Adam. You've had enough."

For a couple of seconds, Adam's hand stayed extended out in the air in front of him even though the decanter was no longer there. When his initial surprise died away, he gave Joe what was presumably supposed to be one of his renowned cold stares, but the fact that his eyes couldn't stay focused for more than half a second sincerely lessened its usual effect.

"Mind your own business, Joe."

He made a pathetic attempt at grabbing the carafe back, but Joe easily avoided the sluggish movement and held decanter away. Clearly irked, Adam poked a finger in his general direction.

"I'm only going to tell you once, now give me—"

"Hey, what are you fellas up to?"

The brewing altercation was hindered by Hoss who had just come into the house and thrown the door shut. He had a hopeful smile on his face, probably there because of seeing Adam up and about and outside of his room. But when Hoss noted the hostile stances his brothers had taken opposite each other and the crystal decanter in Joe's hand, his forehead scrunched up.

Adam rolled his eyes. "Not you too . . ."

Hoss looked to Joe and their gazes locked in shared understanding.

"Listen, Adam, we don't mean no harm or nothin', we only—"

"Then just back off, okay? Both of you."

He made another grab for the decanter, but Joe saw it coming a mile off and sidestepped him, then had to swiftly seize his good arm to keep him from losing his balance. Adam grumbled something unflattering and swung back to the drinks cabinet, apparently intent on starting a new hunt now that his bounty had been taken from him.

"Adam, will you stop being such a selfish, bullheaded—"

Joe's biting words were cut off when he felt a big hand on his shoulder. Like a steadying weight pressing the tension down.

Hoss gave him a little squeeze, then addressed their brother in a gentler manner. "I reckon you should come with us in the kitchen and have a sit down, Adam. Some fresh coffee is gonna be much better for ya than anythin' ya might find in there."

Adam's expression remained steadfast while he continued going through the shelves and compartments, checking each carafe and flask for any leftover splashes. Evidently, his one-armed search wasn't going fast enough, so he started using his bandaged arm too and both Hoss and Joe saw the pain lines that appeared by the corners of his eyes as his brow lowered.

"Come on now, brother, you're just gonna go 'n hurt yurself."

Hoss moved forward and very calmly put his powerful forearm out between Adam and the ravaged cabinet. Surprisingly, Adam didn't protest, and his whole upper-body abruptly sagged as he perceived the mess he'd created.

Joe put the decanter down on the dining room table. "Look, I understand how you must feel, but this has to stop . . ."

". . . You understand?" Adam slowly faced him. "Did you say . . . YOU understand?"

Feeling a little thrown by the question, Joe wavered at first but then nodded faintly. He was completely taken aback though, when Adam suddenly laughed. A short laugh, ridiculing and mocking, as sparks of bitterness, raw agony flared up in his eyes like amber fire-storms.

"YOU understand? You're just a kid, Joe, you don't know—BELIEVE me—you've got NO idea how I—"

"ADAM! That's enough."

All three brothers stiffened at the sound of the bellow coming from the top of the staircase. While Hoss and Adam turned to watch their father's descent, Joe could only focus on his oldest sibling.

"All right," Ben said, his eyebrows slammed together in a scowl when he came over to them, "what's going on here?"

Adam very clearly stated his agitation by doing a terse hand-wave at his brothers.

"Ask those two . . ."

Hands in his pockets, Hoss inclined his head the decanter on the table. "We just figured that some coffee would be a mite better for Adam than that stuff, Pa . . ."

Ben glanced first at Hoss, then at his youngest son. Joe sensed his father watching him, but he still couldn't pull his sight away from Adam.

A few tense moments passed before Ben finally looked Adam up and down and folded his arms across his chest.

"Well, I agree with them. You've had enough."

Adam's head jerked towards him and his half-lidded eyes went fractionally wider. Then, he shot a glower at Hoss and Joe, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

"Fine then."

Next thing, he marched down to the sitting room and on towards the front door with a somewhat erratic gait. Uncrossing his arms, Ben stomped after him.

"And just where do you think you're off to?"

"Since I can't even have a drink in my own home, I'll just have to go into town."

Unsure of what to do, Joe and Hoss traded looks of mutual worry before following after their father and brother. Adam had stopped by the dresser near the front door to get his gun belt when Ben came to a looming standstill right next to him.

"Son. You are not going into town."

"It's my choice, Pa," Adam said impatiently, just discovering that his shirt needed to be buttoned up before he could leave. "I'm a grown man, after all . . ."

"That may be true, but I'm still your father, and right now, it's my judgement that you aren't fit to make your own decisions."

Heedless of his pa's words, Adam started doing up the shirt. He'd resumed his habitual impassive attitude, but Joe caught onto the tremble in his fingers as he fumbled with each button. It gave him away.

"Adam, I mean it," Ben said, his voice dropping down to _that_ place, where any person of a sound mind would stop and listen. "This has gone too far already. You're not leaving this house while you're in such a state."

Without even noticing it, Joe and Hoss tensed up and waited for an eruption, either from their father or brother. But Adam was oblivious of it all and when he'd finished with his shirt, he reached for his gun belt lying on the dresser. At that point, an air of resignation fell over Ben and he backed away, raising his chin.

"Hoss . . ." he commanded.

Hoss winced, and Joe was glad that he wasn't him at that instant. Complying with their father's one-worded order, Hoss lumbered across the floor and took a position by the front door. He assumed a strong posture, trying to appear firm and assured but his inner-turmoil was so easy to read on his telling face.

Joe saw that Adam had just finished buckling his gun belt which seemed to have been quite an ordeal in his condition. He turned without looking where he was going and nearly planted his face into their brother's, expansive chest. Tilting his head up a little, Adam blinked as if he was confused that there was now a Hoss where the front door had been just before. Then, when he realized what was going on, his eyes grew dark with menace and he rose up to his full height, a dark cloud of warning taking over over his features.

"Get out of my way, Hoss."

Hoss shifted uncomfortably, holding up his hands. "Please don't do this Adam, I don't wanna hurt ya none, yur arm might—"

"I said . . . get out of my way."

"Adam let's just—"

"Step . . . aside," Adam said hoarsely, his shoulders starting to shake.

"Please, we only wanna—"

"MOVE THE HELL AWAY!"

The roaring outburst gave way to shocked silence. But out of the four Cartwrights, the one who looked most stunned was Adam himself. Staring at Hoss, he took one stumbling step backwards. He put a hand to his head and it was as if something seeped out of him, right before their eyes, like some long-overdue reaction was finally breaking free.

In Joe's dazed mind he knew that this was it; his brother's knees were about to buckle under him, he was about to keel over, he might hurt his arm, or shatter completely—might not be able to get up again at all. But Adam didn't fall. Because their father was by his side within a second. Holding onto him, keeping him upright . . . as he covered the upper half of his face with the palm of his hand.

"You're all right, boy."

"I . . . Pa, I need . . ." His voice cracked and when it did, something inside Joe broke too. That was just a thing that Adam's voice wasn't supposed to do. Never had done before, never should. The whole scene was utterly surreal and in the middle of it all was their father, looking oddly composed.

"I know, Adam," he said, "Let's go upstairs." He turned Adam in the direction of the staircase. "Come on, let's go."

Adam lowered the hand from his face and used it to carefully hug his injured arm to himself instead. His head hanging down, he walked with his father—rickety on his feet like a newborn foal just learning to walk. Joe was watching their silent trek across the sitting room when his father addressed him.

"The brandy in my desk drawer, Joe. Bring up a glass, half-full. No more."

Joe swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir."

Back to being just a witness again, he stayed in the same spot, looking on as his pa helped Adam up the stairs. But he wasn't alone this time—Hoss was standing just behind him, he could feel it. Like so many other times over the years, Joe felt grateful to his other brother for always being there. Even now, when it felt like their family was being ripped apart, Hoss was there, always the same, reliable and constant.

"You had no choice, Joe, you did what ya had to. We couldn't let 'im . . . we just couldn't."

Whether he'd done right or not, there was one thing Joe was sure of. _That look_ in Adam's eyes would stay with him for a long time after today. He would never have dreamed that Adam was even capable of losing control like that. It had seemed like someone else was using his voice, his body. Thinking about it started to make Joe angry again because right now he was just a little boy who wanted his older brother back. He knew it was selfish of him, but he just wanted his brother, his hero to get up and fight this thing and beat it. Like Adam had always done no matter what came his way.

"Joe?"

Joe turned around to Hoss, feeling exhausted to the bone. "Yea . . . I hope you're right, Hoss. I really hope you're right."

xXXx

Half an hour later, Joe stopped in the hall outside Adam's room. The door was left ajar and he tentatively opened it further, peeking inside.

The first thing he saw was Adam lying on the bed, asleep. He was on his back, and his good arm was thrown out to his side. The brandy glass that Joe had brought up a while ago was now empty, lying on the bed-covers next to him. Their pa was sitting in a chair by the night stand, leaning forward and stroking Adam's hair back from his forehead. The way his hand moved back and forth was so tender, full of love.

For some reason the sight of them like that made Joe's chest contract. He couldn't remember ever seeing his pa be that way with his older brother. There had been a couple of times when Adam was very sick, where Pa had sat up with him, but this was different somehow. It suddenly felt wrong, watching them and Joe felt almost like he was intruding. He was just backing out of the room again but apparently, his father knew he was there, because he suddenly spoke without taking his eyes off Adam.

"Joseph. I want you to gather all the liquor we have in the house. Just set everything on the dining room table. I'll see to it in a bit."

"Yes, Pa . . ."

His father resumed brushing the messy, black strands away from Adam's brow and Joe couldn't stay there a second longer. He left the room and fled down the hall. By the time he got to the landing on the stairs, he knew what he needed to do. He walked straight past Hoss sitting on the settee and paused by the dresser, gripping his gun belt.

Hoss came over, wearing a wary expression. "Where are ya goin'?"

"I'm going into town."

"Dadburnit Joe, ain't it enough with one brother in trouble? I don't think I can handle the both of you—"

"I'm going to see Madeline. I'll talk to her, explain about Adam and maybe she'll come out here." He secured the belt-buckle and looked Hoss dead in the eye. "We need to try something, Hoss. He can't . . . none of us can do this anymore."

It was hard to tell whether Hoss actually agreed with the plan or whether he just recognized that there was no way of dissuading Joe. In either case, he held his palms up and groaned. "All right, dang it . . . just don't be too long, you hear? Pa needs us both here."

"I know. I'll be back soon. He asked me to gather up all the alcohol in the house and put it in the dining room, could you—"

"I'll take care of it."

"Thanks . . ."

Taking his hat, Joe reached the front door with just a couple of long-legged strides and he exited the house without looking back.

xXXx


	28. Chapter 28

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi everyone! I'm back with another long chapter! It would have been a veeery tense ending if I'd split this one up into two and I just didn't have it in me to do that . . ._

 _The reviews on the last chapter were so great to read._ _Thank you members, and to the guests I can't reply directly to—"Guests", Reader, Gaben and Millie!_ _Your feedback means so very much, especially on an emotional chapter like that._ _This next part is emotion-packed again and I hope you like it._

 _Loss of control, love and hate, a mirror and wise words. Here we go._

 _We'll need a warning on this one—This chapter has explicit violence and physical abuse in it_.

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

Close to four o'clock in the afternoon, the drab blanket of cloud still hung above Virginia City. The melancholy of the sky could be felt all over town and in the moods of its citizens. Streets were emptier than usual, saloons and restaurants filled to capacity and beyond, and shutters on windows were closed almost everywhere. Every so often, some tenacious sun ray would penetrate that thick layer of fog and spill a bright beam of light down onto the otherwise shadowy town. It would light up the spot where it landed, brilliantly, but also start to fade in the same instant, like a candle slowly dying away in the wind. And eventually, light surrendered to the grey once again.

Madeline stood on the boardwalk near one of those dying sun beams. Bottom lip between her teeth, she was gazing down the street, her gloved hands clasped tightly together by the front of her pale-yellow skirt. She wasn't even sure how she'd ended up out here. Really, she was supposed to be resting like her uncle had asked her to, but somehow, she'd gotten dressed and left the house, though she had no memory of it. And now she was here. Eyeing the sheriff's office in the distance.

There weren't many other people on the street aside from herself. Just a few groups of cowboys strolling along in their oilskin slickers and some ladies with umbrellas rushing home before the next cloudburst. And then, of course, there was her afternoon stalker standing on the opposite side of the road, watching her.

 _I need to get help._

That was the thought keeping her from resting, the thought that had brought her this far. Anxiety was building within her, twisting her insides into tense knots of dread. Her heart was hammering so hard against her rib cage, like her own private war drum sounding off before battle. Because that was exactly what this was—a battle—and she was about to charge into the unknown with no idea of the outcome.

 _Perhaps if I'm very quick . . . Just get to the sheriff's office, Mr. Coffee will know what to do . . ._

 _Oh, I'll never make it . . ._

How on earth was she supposed to do this? She was so lightheaded, it felt like she might lift off the ground and float away from this whole thing. Her own voice was roaring in her head, inner dialogue working to persuade one moment and dissuade the next. But then one three-worded thought surged in and overwhelmed all else.

 _He needs me._

 _I have to do this . . . because he needs me._

She latched onto that thought. There was no other choice. She adjusted her light-blue zouave jacket and pulled her bonnet down lower to hide her face. It was a fairly pointless action because she was one of the only people on the street and her stalker already had her in his sights. But it made her feel just a little less exposed. She gathered all her strength with a breath, felt her chest expanding as if filling with courage, with determination. Then she moved.

Hastening along the wooden boardwalk—her heels tap-tapping with urgency. She kept her head down and her sight nailed to the floor as she tried to control the quavering in her knees.

 _Keep moving, just keep moving . . ._

Even though she refused to look over at him, she sensed that her stalker was extra alert now, following and watching her every move from across the road. There was no doubt in her mind that the moment he realized where she was heading, he would try to stop her. She didn't know how, but he would definitely try. And she knew that her only chance to get past him would be to run. The sheriff's office, which had been just a vague, distant square down the road when her tread had started, was now clear for her to see.

 _You're almost there, just keep going . . ._

As discreetly as she could manage it, she moved her quivering hands to the front of her skirt. Her fingers clutched the fabric painfully and they were probably turning just as white as the gloves that covered them. In her mind, she started a countdown from three, knowing that when those three seconds were up, she would lift her skirt and she would run.

 _Three . . . two . . . one_ —

"Hey, Madeline!"

Her frayed nerves leaped in different directions all at once, and she came to a grinding halt, catching hold of a nearby support beam to balance herself. Her face jerked out towards the street and a sickening wave welled up from her belly when she saw Little Joe jump down from his horse and lope towards her.

 _No . . . oh no, not now Joe . . ._

She turned back to the boardwalk and focused all her attention on getting her feet to move again. One step at a time, she kept walking forwards because what else could she do?

"Madeline, wait up!"

Her pace quickened, and she prayed, Lord, she prayed that he would give up and just let her go and do this thing she needed to do.

 _Oh, please don't Joe . . ._

"Madeline, just hear me out, it's about Adam."

She finally stopped. He was standing right next to her now and there was no point in going any further. But she couldn't look at him.

"I'm not trying to interfere in your business or cause trouble, but you need to know that he . . . he isn't himself and . . . we're really worried . . ."

Her eyes flitted up to Joe's troubled countenance lined with stress and she saw no trace of the carefree, spirited young man she had gotten to know.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Joe . . ." she said with genuine regret.

"I came to ask you if—" He quickly took off his hat, holding it with both hands by his chest. "Can't you come out and see him? I really think it would help him and . . . we don't know what else to do . . ."

"I—"

A shift in the background drew her sight away from Joe—past him and to the man who had been following her. He'd come closer than ever before and he was now pretending to be checking his pocket-watch outside the bank. He'd angled himself in a way that made his coat hang open, revealing the gun belt hanging around his waist.

Madeline's eyes shot back to Joe, but he frowned at her, confused. She felt a cold shudder run down her spine when his body began to turn because she knew that his head would follow, that he was about to turn and look straight at that man and her stalker might see that as a threat.

"All right," she blurted out.

Joe wavered, looked back at her. "All right . . .? You mean . . . you'll come out and see him?" he asked in a baffled tone.

"Yes, I . . . tomorrow, I'll come out to the ranch tomorrow."

 _God, please leave Joe, please go!_

"Okay . . . okay good . . . thanks, Madeline."

"I really need to go now . . ."

"Yea, okay . . ." He scratched his temple. "We'll see you tomorrow then."

His expression was more one of confused surprise rather than suspicion. She really hoped it was so.

"Yes . . . good day, Joe"

"Good day, Madeline."

She walked away, holding her breath as she felt two pairs of eyes following her.

 _Go home . . . don't come after me._

The boardwalk seemed as unsteady as a ship riding on waves and each step she took was a wonder to her, because she had no idea how she was even still standing let alone walking. The little encounter with Joe had lasted no more than two minutes, probably just one, but it had seemed impossibly long. It was only when she perceived the sheriff's office up ahead that it all came back to her—her plan and what she'd been about to do. She chanced it—a fleeting glance behind her—and saw that Joe and his horse were gone. The rapid pounding in her breast slowed a bit and she knew he must be on his way home, back to safety. Then she noticed her stalker starting to cross the street, closing in on her.

It was now or never. She swung back to the sheriff's office, lifted her skirt and her foot was in the air, stepping off the boardwalk when suddenly—a hand seized her arm and yanked her back.

"Walk with me, won't you, _Miss Delaney_?"

A stab of terror went through her gut because she instantly recognized the hissing voice. She twisted her head to look at him, and Ray's face was set in that frightening look she knew so well—the one that told her how close he was to losing control. He checked to see if anyone was watching them, then he spun her around and began walking back down the boardwalk from where she'd come. The grip around her arm was bruising as he pulled her along with him and she was about to call out, but he saw it and leaned into her.

"You make one noise and I'll make you regret it."

She bit down into her lip, her eyes welling up with tears. He looked out at the street, jerked his chin upwards and to the right and that's when she saw another man striding alongside her stalker, both men coming nearer. The hand on her arm clenched tighter and her tears started to fall as Ray turned right and forced her down an alleyway between two buildings. At the end of the narrow passage, he released her with a vicious shove. She wasn't prepared for that and she stumbled—gasped in pain when she fell hard against the brick wall next to her.

"I warned you, Madeline . . ."

Holding onto her burning arm, she got to her feet unsteadily, squashed herself back against the wall to get as far away from him as possible.

"Ray, I—"

"I made it CLEAR to you, what would happen if you disobeyed me . . ."

More tears fell as he came closer and at the edge of her bleary vision, Ray's two men were standing with their backs to her and her husband, looking down the alley towards the street to make sure no one was coming. No one could help her.

"Let me go, Ray . . ." she tried, but her voice sounded tiny, frightened.

"You left me no choice, Madeline. And now that young Cartwright will be paying the price for your disobedience."

An icy hand wrapped around her heart, encasing it, making it stop.

". . . What have you done . . ."

"I sent some men after him. You should just be grateful that I told them not to kill him."

"NO! Oh God, Ray, don't do this, he hasn't done anything!"

She pushed away from the wall, not caring that there were three grown men standing in her way, and she scrambled to get back down through the alley. But Ray caught her. His fingers dug into her shoulder and he ripped her back, smashing her up against the wall. She cried out, but he crushed his body against hers, his face turning scarlet and swollen with fury.

"SHUT UP, damn you! There's nothing you can do about it—my men have him by now!"

The shock drained out of her and she glared at him with naked hatred. "Let me GO!"

White teeth flashed beneath his mustache as he flung his right hand up in an all too familiar motion. She shrank back in anticipation of the slap. But for the first time in the three years they'd been married, he stopped himself. Instead, he clasped both her arms with excruciating force, shaking her violently.

"This is the last warning you're going to get, Madeline, do you understand me?!"

"S-stop, Ray—"

"We're going to leave this town together, you and I, we're going to start over just like I planned it all, and anyone who stands in the way of that will be killed, you hear?!"

He stopped shaking her and she stared at him. Her lips formed the same short sentence in silence a couple of times before she found the power to voice it.

". . . You have gone completely mad!"

His face contorted into a grotesque grimace and he suddenly pulled her forwards only to smack her back against the building. Her shriek was cut off when he did it again. And again. Searing pain shot up her back and arms as she lurched back and forth, harder each time, too paralyzed to fight against him or call for help. The back of her head hit the wall, rattled her brain and made everything reel around her. Then finally—the brutal onslaught ended. But before she could collect her scattered senses, his smooth gentlemen's hands folded around the base of her throat. Her hands went to his forearms as her eyes grew wide, fixed on his wild, ice-blue irises when he started to squeeze. The panic was like a living being inside her, rushing through her veins and she opened her mouth to scream but only a pitiful squeak came out. The real scream was released within, ringing in her ears, only she could hear. She scratched at his arms and her lungs burned like they were about to explode and rip her apart. Yet, the pressure around her throat became tighter and tighter and her eyes watered as she saw the world slowly disappearing. The alley they were in disappeared, then she felt herself begin to go when she started to lose all connection, all feeling with her body. There was only him left. But even he was disappearing now, blurred by her tears to the point where all she could make out were his eyes. The horrific thought struck her fading mind, that this would be the last thing she saw in life—his eyes, bulging whites with pinprick-pupils.

Then, all of a sudden, the crushing pressure around her throat disappeared. She dropped, but somehow, she didn't hit the ground.

"DON'T—don't call me that . . ." he said, hugging her, holding her up. She felt his mustache tickle her cheek and ear as she gulped in air, choked on it hysterically, and coughed it out again. "You shouldn't say such things, dear . . ." he whispered, kissed her cheek, her chin, "I'm not—I . . . never say that again, all right . . .?"

She hung there in his arms, looking like the little brown-haired rag-doll she'd carried around everywhere with her as a child. Her breathing was still harsh and rapid, and it hurt—every ounce of air she inhaled hurt as it stoked the fire going in her chest.

After some unknown amount of time, Ray held out a handkerchief to her while still holding her up with his other arm.

"Wipe your face, Madeline."

She did, shaking and quiet.

"Good. Now, I want you to go back to your uncle's house. You don't talk to anyone, you don't go anywhere else. Go straight there and get yourself back together before he comes home."

A glossy sheen coated her eyes and she stood still as he stroked her messy hair back, pulled her bonnet back in place atop of her head. He tugged her zouave jacket closer around her, he even bent down to brush the worst of the dirt off her skirt from when she'd fallen after he'd shoved her. He looked at her and she saw his mouth move but she couldn't comprehend what he was saying, so she didn't respond. This time, he didn't seem to get angry with her though. He just went over to the two men who still stood with their backs to the alleyway-dead-end. After he'd spoken with them, they left, and Ray came back to her.

There was no force in his hand when he took her arm—the hold was even gentle, as gentle as he was capable of being. And still, it hurt her.

He led her back down the alley to the street, curved her in the direction of her uncle's house. Her aching back received a soft nudge and maybe he said something more to her, but she just didn't know.

The walk home was very much like the walk out had been—she had no recollection of it. The moment she became aware of herself again, she was standing in the foyer of her uncle's house just gazing at the hallway, with no clue about how long she'd been standing there. In a half-daze, she went to the staircase and slowly climbed it, still wearing her jacket, bonnet and gloves. She nearly climbed the second half of the steps on all fours because her muscles were giving out. But she made it all the way up and to her bedroom. She went in and closed the door behind her, walked to the bed.

Her whole body hurt. Her back, her arms, her neck—one big, pulsating agony. Every movement she made was drawn out as she took off her bonnet and another piercing pain made itself known. She looked down at her delicate, white gloves, saw that a couple of fingertips on each hand were spotted red, soaked through with blood. Removing them was painful too.

Everything was crumbling inside her. The walls that had held her up for what seemed like an eternity were collapsing, falling and landing in ruins all around her. She couldn't do this anymore.

Her jacket, bonnet and spoiled gloves were thrown haphazardly into a closet. She sat down on the bed, moved to lay on her side, drawing her legs up under her. Then she cried.

Waves of pure wretchedness rolled through her and her body convulsed with each one. Tortured sobs, hopelessness and creeping blackness filled the little room and Madeline lay in it, the pain continuing to abuse her until blessed sleep overtook her.

* * *

He awoke with that same sour taste on his tongue that seemed to be there every time he opened his eyes now. His upper and lower lashes were sticky and he had to do a quick succession of blinks to get them to stop clinging together. Expecting to see his father, he rolled his head left on the pillow. Even in his foggy-brained state, he was mildly surprised when he saw that the chair by the bed was empty.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. With a groan, he dropped his heavy head in his hands, but that just made him aware of how much his injured arm hurt, now that he could actually _feel_ again. It felt as though the skin on his forearm was splitting.

What he wouldn't give for a drink right now . . . just to take the edge off. Not only for the pain but just as much to escape this overwhelming feeling of shame coursing through him. Because he remembered everything that had happened before he'd been taken to his room by his father. In animated detail, he recalled his own reckless behavior, his spiteful, bitter words and worst of all, he remembered the looks on his younger brothers' faces. Right now, shame enclosed him at his lowest point, smothered him, and he no longer had an escape from it.

Some commotion from downstairs broke through his self-loathing. His head lifted, and he tried to concentrate, listen. There was more noise and now raised voices. Was that Cantonese yelling he could hear? Hop Sing must be back from his visit to his cousin then. The cook had probably caught Hoss stealing something from the kitchen . . . It was a very plausible explanation, given that it had happened so many times before. But this time . . . no, not this time.

Something was _wrong_ , he could feel it.

Adam got up from the bed and stood swaying. He was an outright mess—the word _mess_ was indeed the most accurate one he could think of to describe his condition. It seemed to encompass all his immediate feelings; the nausea, the heaviness in every limb, the complete exhaustion and devastating dejection. And yet, in spite of all that, he had a strange sense suddenly telling him to get out of this room—go downstairs.

With a slight wobble, he walked across the room to the closed door. When he opened it and came out into the hall, his awareness sharpened further, and he moved faster because now he could plainly hear his father's concerned voice.

He reached the top of the stairs at an unlikely speed and held onto the wooden railing as he got a view of the sitting room.

"What's wrong?"

His father, Hoss and Hop Sing were huddled in front of the settee and his question made them all look up at him

"It's Joe," his father said, expressions of anger and worry battling for his face. "He's been bushwhacked."

Adam had to grab the staircase railing with his other hand too to support himself. His eyes flashing with sudden alertness, he started down the stairs, feeling his pulse thundering in his neck. He caught a glimpse of Joe when Hoss leaned down by the settee to pick him up. Holding Joe's limp form in his arms, Hoss made for the staircase with their father following. They met a few steps up, and Adam stopped Hoss from going further when he reached out to take his baby brother's dangling hand.

"Joe . . .?"

Joe was out cold and his head was tipped in against Hoss' chest, but on the side of his face that Adam could see, there was a thin trail of blood running from his nose and a purple bruise along his cheekbone.

"I got 'im Adam, let's get 'im to his room, okay?"

Hoss continued up the stairs before Adam could reply and suddenly his father rushed past him too, touching his shoulder briefly on the way.

"I get water and bandage, Mr. Adam," Hop Sing called up to him from the sitting room. "You go, be with Littah Joe."

Shaking himself free of his momentary shock, Adam nodded at the cook, then went back up the stairs. The fog around his mind had dissolved within seconds and his thinking was now clearer than it had been for several days. With quick and purposeful strides, he hurried down the hall to Joe's bedroom door and entered.

"Hoss get his boots."

"Yea Pa."

Adam watched his father and brother hovering by the bed, removing Joe's boots and muddied, green jacket. Joe was lying motionless as they maneuvered him around, showing no signs of consciousness. Making his way to the other side of the bed, Adam's eyes were intent on his kid brother.

". . . What happened to him?"

"We don't know," his father said, sounding strained while he unbuttoned Joe's shirt. "Hop Sing hired a ride home from town and found your brother lying at the side of the road with Cochise standing nearby. They were closer to here than Virginia City, so he decided to bring Joe straight home."

Adam leaned over the bed. "Has he been awake at all?"

"No . . . he was like this when Hop Sing found him. Someone just left him this way after emptying his wallet and saddlebags."

With a careful hand, Adam touched Joe's curls in a gentle caress. There was dirt in his hair and little mud-splatters on his other cheek. When Adam saw that, his lips compressed, and he felt a rush of heat rise up his neck. The thought of someone beating up his little brother and leaving him unconscious in the mud . . .

"Do we have any idea who did this?" he asked in a low voice.

"No, we ain't, not yet." Hoss faced him, and the big man's usually kind, mellow demeanor held a smoldering sense of violence waiting to be unleashed. "But I tell ya Adam, when I find the fellas who did . . . I'm gonna tear 'em limb from limb."

"We'll discuss that later." Their father's firm insistence broke through their mounting tempers and he eyed them both meaningfully "Right now, we need to check him over to see how badly hurt he is, so we can decide if we need to send for Paul."

Both older brothers glanced down at their sibling, then back at each other, silently agreeing to put their anger aside for now.

"Yea, all right, Pa," Hoss said.

They turned their attention back to Joe and while Hoss and their father got him undressed, Adam checked his head for any serious injuries. He found an impressive bump on the back of Joe's head which was undoubtedly the cause of the kid's passed-out condition. Adam knew just how unpredictable head-wounds could be, but at least there was no blood around the lump.

They were all quite relieved to find no injuries that appeared too alarming. He'd been pretty badly beaten and had a couple of bruised ribs along with a developing black eye, but nothing seemed to be broken. Still, it was an upsetting situation for everyone and Hoss and Adam could see the toll it was taking on their father. The worst part was that Joe still hadn't woken up.

Hop Sing came up with the water and bandages and some of the Chinese herbal liniment he always kept on hand for situations exactly like this. In all honesty, a beaten-up Cartwright brother wasn't exactly a rare occurrence and Hop Sing knew that better than anyone, well, except for maybe Paul Martin.

Seeing that there wasn't much else he could do there, Hoss said he'd go out and look in on Cochise. That came as no surprise to Adam. It was such a typical Hoss-thing to do and by taking care of Cochise, he was also taking care of Joe. The four Cartwrights cared for all animals, especially their horses, but the bond between Joe and Cochise was indeed very special, very much like the one Adam had with Sport.

When Hoss had left, it was mostly their father and Hop Sing who tended to Joe. Adam wasn't much help now that his left arm was rendered pretty much useless on account of the numbing pain throbbing all the way from his elbow to his wrist. He didn't say anything about how bad it was though. He knew that he deserved to feel it.

He'd been so caught up in himself and his own sorrow—he hadn't cared about how it was all affecting his family. He'd behaved selfishly and he'd said cruel, hurtful things to them when they were only trying to help him. Things he couldn't take back. And now, his little brother was lying on a bed, beaten and unconscious, and he couldn't even apologize. It was one thing after the other, his life seemed to be rotating with heartache and he was so tired of it all.

When Joe had been cleaned up and his ribs bandaged, Adam sat in a chair on one side of the bed while his pa sat on the other. Hop Sing had gone off in a huff to "get house back in order", and Adam had noticed the open gratitude in the look his father gave the departing cook. He'd realized then, how much pressure his pa must have been under lately with worrying about him, looking out for Joe and Hoss, tending to ranch business and doing everything without Hop Sing around to take care of all those practical chores that made the household function.

The thought stirred the deep shame already eating away at him.

They sat together for several minutes in the room, both of them just watching Joe when Adam eventually spoke.

"Pa, you want me to send someone to get Paul?"

"We'll wait a bit." His father's eyes lifted from Joe and settled on him instead. "It isn't as bad as I thought at first and the worst is that lump on his head. If he doesn't wake within the next hour, we'll send someone for Paul, otherwise we'll wait until tomorrow."

"All right."

Adam looked back at Joe, but those brown lashes were lying still, not about to flutter open. He stood from the chair and held his left arm close to himself. Without saying anything else, he headed for the door.

"Adam . . . where are you going?"

His father's words were slow, like they were weighed down with trepidation and hearing it made another pang of guilt strike Adam's heart. He turned back around and out of all the things he knew he _should_ be showing with his face—regret, repentance, shame—he only managed tired reassurance.

"It's time I got cleaned up. I'll be back in a little while."

Instantly, relief soothed the anxiety in his father's features and he slumped in his chair, nodding. He even gave a small smile. But Adam couldn't return that smile, he had no right to and when his pa faced Joe again, he left the room.

xXXx

He walked down the hall and stopped on the threshold of the doorway, trying to comprehend the sight of his own room. He'd been living in this room—practically hadn't left it for the last one and a half days and yet he hadn't _seen_ it. Not really. But he was seeing it now, that was for sure.

Bottles, clothes, papers all over the place and dried-out splashes of alcohol sticky on the floor. Uncertain, he stepped forward, looking around himself at all the chaos.

How had all this happened?

His creased uniform lay on the bed, disrespected, tossed aside. He wanted to go over and fold it neatly as he'd always kept it, but he couldn't move. On his desk lay the last letter he'd ever gotten from a friend no longer alive and next to it . . . a telegram. On the floor were crumbled pieces of paper—miserable, failed attempts at a letter to the woman he loved.

Everywhere he looked, he saw his own suffering. It had taken over the entire room. It made him feel sick and even more disgusted when his eyes started to burn and his throat closed up. He'd walked straight into an ambush, crippling emotions lying in wait for him. Floored by the state of everything, he glanced left which he definitely shouldn't have done because that was where the long, oval mirror stood.

God, who was that . . . ? It couldn't be . . .

Staring at the shocked face in the mirror, he lifted the palm of his hand to his cheek and felt coarse beard touching him back.

 _What have you done?_

Unable to bear the accusing tone, he turned away from the face because he had no answer for the question.

 _Coward . . ._

A coward? . . . yes. Yes, he was. He couldn't stand seeing the glaring, wordless truth that only mirrors could tell of. In their language of reflection.

He closed his eyes, tipped his chin up and gripped the bandage around his arm—let it burn just a little more. Just a little more.

 _Weak . . ._

Yes. He was weak too. Only a weak man would seek refuge in physical pain to avoid an agony much greater.

He breathed in. A lungful of air that seemed infused with misery—his own—along with that lingering scent of intoxicating spirits that teased his senses, promised him solace. Tempted him anew.

 _Defeated._

He opened his eyes, released the breath. Let go of his arm.

No.

He started wandering restlessly around the room, and God, his control was slipping again. Thoughts were becoming fragmented in his head, plunging down to that dark void in his soul that he couldn't hide anymore and he fought the urge to cover his ears with his hands.

Through his haggard breathing he swore at himself—cursed himself, hatefully, because now wasn't the time for this. Not now. He needed his wits about him.

 _Give into the cravings of the physical self . . . the cost, emotional death._

He wheeled around and stomped over to his tormentor. His fist clenched—desperately itching to smash that image looking back at him to smithereens—give release to all that pent-up something inside of him in what would be an extraordinary explosion of broken mirror shards, fractured truths, and a bloodied fist.

For a moment, he saw it happen . . . but only as a figment of his imagination. Because he didn't actually do it. What he did instead was, he forced himself to look at the face in the mirror. At _his_ face.

Startled eyes trailed over every pained line, every tense feature and saw all the fear, shame, the anguish. Absorbed everything and accepted it. Until there was nothing more to see and the shock subsided. And left room for the beginnings of some sort of peace. He kept watching himself—growing calmer with every second. He saw his own shoulders lower a little, saw his chest lift and fall more evenly.

This mirror had told him a truth, yes, but right now, it was telling an even bigger lie. Because the mirror showed him as _whole_ and he wasn't. He was as the broken, shattered mirror in his imagination would have shown him.

For him, there was no running from it. What he was. And there was no lying about it.

But that didn't really matter because he was still needed. His family needed him. His baby brother needed him. With all his heart, he wanted to believe that Madeline still needed him in some way. Whether he was whole or just broken little pieces, he still had a purpose.

Adam turned his back to the mirror. He looked at the room and without giving himself time to think too much about it, he went to the nearest cluttered spot which happened to be his dresser overburdened with clothes and a few bottles. It wasn't a very fast-paced or efficient tidying-demonstration of his, but with one arm, he did the best he could.

Once he'd finished with that area, he moved towards the rumpled bed when he heard scurrying footsteps from the hallway behind him. As expected, Hop Sing appeared in the doorway and Adam met him with a chagrined grimace. He really wasn't proud of the state of the place.

But Hop Sing strode in as if it was quite normal that it looked like a hurricane had struck the room and he stopped in front of Adam. In a very matter of fact manner, the cook stuck a handful of black clothes out towards his good arm.

"Here. You take fresh clothes. Shaving things weaddy for you in washroom. You wash up now, I look at bad arm after."

"Uh . . . thanks, Hop Sing, but I was just—" He had to take the clothes when Hop Sing tried to stuff them under his arm. "Well, I guess I can go and wash up first."

A little puzzled, he moved towards the door but Hop Sing didn't follow. The cook wiped his hands on his apron, the one Madeline had made for him, walked over to the bed and began clearing all the bottles and letters away.

"Hop Sing, leave it, I'll clean up in here—"

"Mr. Adam." Hop Sing twisted back to him, directing a finger at him. "YOU clean YOU"—he then pointed to himself—"I clean room."

"No, I should be tidying up this mess, not you."

He was halfway back to the bed when the cook scurried over and stood in his way. Looking up at him, Hop Sing's sharp eyes radiated profound understanding as well as fierce persistence.

"In family, when person make mess, everybody got mess. All help clean up. It what family do, Mr. Adam."

The simple, earnest message wasn't at all what Adam had expected to hear and it successfully quashed any further protests he would have tried to make. With a slow, soft expression, he dipped his chin.

"Thanks, Hop Sing."

"You welcome, Mr. Adam. Now, you go wash up! Use velly much soap. I take look at arm after, so you no run off."

Hop Sing was back by the bed in an instant, springing into action. For the first time in a long, long while, Adam's habitual half-smile graced his face as he watched the cook. It stayed there when he walked out into the hall and headed for the washroom.

xXXx

Ben's chair creaked through the quiet when he leaned forwards, studying his youngest son fixedly.

"Adam, I think he's about to wake up . . ."

He glanced over at his firstborn, but Adam had already seen Joe's eyelids twitch and was bending forwards in his own chair.

"Joe?" Ben said, stroking his son's arm.

The rich brown lashes flickered between half-open and shut for a few seconds until finally, they opened fully. First, his eyes were slightly cloudy and they disappeared behind the lashes again. Ben held his arm tighter.

"Can you hear me, son?"

Joe's eyes opened again, and this time they became more focused. His body seemed to sink lower down into the bed, and Ben knew he was relaxing with the knowledge that his pa was there. Suddenly, the young man stiffened when he noted the person sitting to his other side.

Squinting at his brother, his voice came out unstable and unsure.

". . . Adam?"

Adam shifted, seemed just as unsure. "Hey, little buddy . . ."

There was a pause. Adam tried a tentative half-smile for his younger brother and Ben's heart melted at the sight.

Joe mumbled, "You're . . . you . . ."

Although words left him, Ben understood how he felt. The father was having trouble containing his own emotions when his youngest boy fought against a quivering lip-pout.

"It's all right, Joe," Adam said, taking hold of his hand. "I'm all right now."

Joe blinked as little spasms crossed his face. He quickly wiped at his eyes with his other hand and let out a gravely chuckle.

"Is this supposed to be the cleaned-up you? Cause you still look pretty terrible, older brother."

His smile growing, Adam rubbed his now clean-shaven, pale cheek and gestured to him. "You're not looking too good yourself, kid."

"I don't feel all that good either."

With a wincing smile, Joe moved a little under the covers.

"JOE! Yur awake!"

Hoss came into the room, his mouth open in a grin of joy. He went straight to the bed and gave Joe's arm a pat.

"I'm sure glad to have ya back with us, shortshanks . . ." His grin faded away. "How are you feeling?"

"Kinda like you fell from the barn roof and landed on my head."

He looked caught off guard at first, but then he laughed loudly, and Adam smiled too. Ben was just glad to see the cheeky liveliness back in those green orbs of his youngest son.

"I've been out fussin' over Cochise in the barn," Hoss said. "He's nice'n warm and well-fed now."

"Thanks, Hoss. Even while I was out, I could feel he was there with me. I'm just glad the bushwhackers didn't take him."

"Yea, me too."

Hoss glanced at his father and other brother for the first time since entering the room and he did a double-take when he saw Adam. His jaw dropped and he moved unwittingly around to the other side of the bed.

"Doggone it, Adam . . ." He halted by his brother's chair, and the amazement gradually left his countenance. Laying a hand on Adam's shoulder, he regarded him with calm sincerity instead. "I'm glad to have you back with us too."

Adam hesitated, then he nodded, but avoided looking directly at either of his siblings. Ben had a good idea about the reason, but decided to divert the attention off his eldest and onto the pressing matter concerning his youngest.

"Joe," he said, "can you tell us what happened?"

Joe rested back against the pillows and sighed. "I don't remember much, Pa. I . . . I was leaving Virginia City and stopped to let Cochise have some water before the ride when someone came up behind me, knocked me down."

"You said _bushwhackers_ just before," Adam said, emphasizing the plural, "any idea how many they were?"

"No . . . I woke up once, hanging off Cochise. It was outside town somewhere and I heard their voices, there might've been three . . . more than two at least." Joe looked thoughtful. "How did I get home?"

"Hop Sing found you lying along the road on his way from town," Ben said in a voice cold with resentment. "The bushwhackers must've left you there."

"Dadburnit, them stinkin' good for nothin—" Hoss broke off and his scowl turned to a confused frown. "How come they got the jump on ya anyhow, Joe? It ain't like ya."

Gingerly, Joe touched the back of his head. "I know, I guess I just had a lot of things going through my mind."

The room went quiet and Ben could tell that Joe regretted saying that, especially when Adam drooped dejectedly in his chair.

"I, well, I mean that I just wasn't paying enough attention . . ."

Clearing his throat, Adam straightened up, obviously trying to appear unaffected. "Did you meet up with anyone in particular or get into a bad poker game at the saloon? Anything you did in town might be connected to whoever did this."

Joe threw a cautious glance at Hoss but he was busy looking for something in his pockets.

"No . . . I didn't play poker," he said, fidgeting with the edge of his blanket. "I just . . . wanted to see what was happening in town."

Ben's gaze travelled from his youngest to his middle son. "Hoss told me you were meeting some friends?"

"Well . . . uh, I, yea. That was what I was _gonna_ do and then I kinda . . . ran into Madeline and just sort of forgot and . . . rode around . . . some."

Another quiet spell.

"Wait—" Adam held up a hand, eyes narrowed. ". . . You went to town to see Madeline?"

Joe faced him with clear apprehension. "Don't be angry, Adam. I was just trying to help . . ."

"I'm not angry, I—" He mumbled something inaudible to himself and stood from the chair, apparently needing to move suddenly, which Hoss quickly made sure he had plenty of room for by keeping a good few feet's distance.

"So you talked to Madeline . . . and that was _all_ you did in town and then this happened?"

"Yea . . . you were just so . . . I just wanted to get her to come out and talk to you—"

"Oh, she's gonna talk to me all right."

Ben watched his pacing firstborn. "Adam . . ."

Adam stopped and flipped his good arm out. "Look Pa, she was the last person to talk to Joe before he was attacked. Maybe she isn't aware of it but she might've seen something, someone suspicious, anything." His eyes seemed to turn inward, as if the next thing he said was a promise to himself. "And if she did, I'm gonna find out, whether she wants to talk to me or not."

Hoss backed him up. "Adam's got a point, Pa. Miss Madeline might be the best chance we got at catchin' them fellas who did this to Joe."

Raising both hands, palms out, Ben agreed. "All right . . . so what do you want to do?"

"I'm going to town to see her tomorrow," Adam said.

Joe spoke up. "She did tell me that she'd come out here to visit you tomorrow . . ."

". . . She did?" Adam's brow lifted in surprise.

"Yea."

"Hey, ain't tomorrow that Virginia City annual rodeo show?" Hoss asked.

"Yea, that's right . . ." Joe snapped his fingers. "Then we better all go."

Ben drilled his youngest further down into the bed with a stern look. "You, young man, will stay right here in this bed."

"But Pa, I might remember something more tomorrow . . . and it's the annual rodeo, it only comes once a year!"

"Yes, Joseph, I am aware of what the word _'annual'_ means. Nevertheless, you won't be seeing the rodeo until next year."

Joe attempted to do a disappointed arm-cross, but jarred his bruised ribs instead. When he winced in pain, Ben swiftly went to help settle him better.

The discussion was effectively ended when those characteristic scurrying steps entered the room. Hop Sing came over and set a tray loaded with roast pork and sweet potatoes down across Joe's lap, then he ordered the other three Cartwrights to go down and eat their supper before the meal went cold and dry. Despite all the dramatic events that had taken place throughout the day, the sight and thought of food still brought an eager smile to Hoss' lips. Before he was pushed out of the room by the Chinese cook, he told Joe he'd bring up the checker-board as soon as he'd finished eating. Ben was pleased at that because he knew that the thing that always bothered Joe the most about being ill or injured was the time spent alone in his room, confined to the bed.

Following Hoss and Hop Sing, Ben went out into the hall, but he stopped when he noticed that Adam had hung back in Joe's room. The father stayed still out in the hallway and heard Joe's hesitant voice.

"Hey, Adam?"

". . . Yea?"

"You think that . . . you're gonna come up again later? You know . . . for a game of checkers maybe?"

Ben listened hopefully until Adam's soft response came.

"Sure, Joe. If you want, I'll come up in a bit."

"Okay . . . I'd like that."

Preferring to avoid being caught eavesdropping, Ben continued down the hall, and he sensed his oldest son exit Joe's room behind him. But as he got to the staircase, he realized that Adam hadn't followed him. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he wavered. Then he turned on his heel and strode back down the hall, past Joe's room—to the only other place his boy could have gone.

"Well," he said, walking into Adam's perfectly orderly bedroom. "This place certainly looks a lot more like it used to."

Adam stood by his desk with his back to him, fingering a tidy stack of letters on the wooden top. Ben glimpsed the dark-blue uniform lying neatly folded on the foot of the bed.

"Hop Sing cleaned up . . . I didn't ask him to."

"You generally don't ask people to do things for you very often, Adam." He approached his son's back. "But it doesn't hurt to let them every once in a while."

He stopped just behind him, waited.

"I'm sorry, Pa . . ."

 _For what, boy? Being human?_

Adam bowed his head, giving Ben a clear view of those little, rebellious curls thriving at the back of his neck, like they'd done when he was just a baby. Back then, it had been so much easier, soothing him.

"I know you are, son."

"I'm not sure that I . . . I don't know how to . . ."

Ben laid a hand against his back. "Sometimes, people don't _know_. We don't always know _how_ or _why_ and we're not supposed to _._ But we have each other, family and friends. People who care and who love us and want to help us find the answers to those questions. _If_ we let them . . ."

Adam stayed silent and Ben found it strangely comforting, feeling that strong back rising and falling with each breath under his hand.

"You don't need my forgiveness, Adam. You already have it, like you've always had it. And if you'd looked— _really looked_ at your brothers just before—you would have seen that you have theirs too." He withdrew his hand. "What you need . . . is your own."

He knew better than to expect his reserved son to suddenly pour his heart out to him. If that day ever came with Adam . . . he actually had no idea about how he would even handle it, yet he still wanted to. As a father of three grown boys, it was something he'd learned to live with—the pondering over how he'd failed his first child. What had he done wrong or left out in raising Adam that had made him this way, so different from Joe, and to a degree, Hoss? Could he have done anything to prevent some or even just one of those tragic events which had hardened that young boy?

Adam wasn't going to change overnight, but he did have his moments, little ways and times of opening up and Ben cherished each one.

The most important thing to him right now, was that he'd gotten his message across and he knew that he had because Adam wasn't speaking, he was busy thinking.

Ben turned and started to head out of the room.

"I'd like you to come down and have some supper with us, son."

It wasn't quite an order but it was firmer than a request. Whether little boys or grown men, sons sometimes needed that—their fathers telling them what to do, lightly nudging them back on the right track again. Adam was no different there.

"Yea. I'll be down in a minute, Pa."

Ben walked out into the hall feeling a new strength running through him. His family would endure this trial as long as they had each other.


	29. Chapter 29

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi guys! I think this was an update-delay-record, sorry! I needed to have the next few chapters pretty much done to get everything just right so I plan to post the next three chapters within a week. I wish I could express just how much all of your sweet reviews and messages about my writing mean to me. I am very grateful to you all, guests and members._

 _Okay, let's go! It's Thursday, the day of the rodeo in Virginia City, so this starts off the morning after the previous chapter. Enjoy and have a lovely weekend everyone!_

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

"Madeline? Are you all right in there, dear?"

"Yes, Uncle Paul . . . I'm just getting dressed. I'll be down in a moment."

"All right . . . I have breakfast almost ready."

Madeline listened for her uncle's footsteps as they disappeared back down the hall, then she faced the mirror of her dressing table again. Watching her reflection, she hooked a tear-shaped pendulant earring in her earlobe. The gemstone was lilac-colored like her skirt and matched her black shoes with the dark-purple buckles perfectly. It was very important to her today, that everything was just right. Her clothes, her jewelry—her appearance needed to be flawless. Closing the little jewelry box, she slowly pushed it to the side on the dresser table, still watching herself in the mirror. She saw blank, lifeless orbs there, but her mind couldn't seem to comprehend that they belonged to her.

She had deliberately taken her time getting ready this morning. The longer she stayed in her room, the less time she would have with her uncle downstairs before he had to leave to go on his house calls. It was Thursday today, and he usually did some house calls outside of town which was just what she needed. She hadn't actually seen him since noon the previous day when he'd returned from his visit to the Ponderosa. When he had told her that Adam was in a bad way. Afterwards, he'd left to see his patients and been gone the entire afternoon and evening, unaware of what she'd done and what had happened to her.

Yesterday had been the worst day of her life. As if fate had decided to play a cruel trick on her, everything had gone wrong and her attempt to help herself and the people she loved had failed in the worst way possible. Her frail hope of getting out of this living terror and preventing anyone from getting hurt had literally been choked out of her. Now, feelings of emptiness and guilt were the only ones she had left.

In the mirror, her eyes were glassy—like they were on the verge of shattering and spilling out deep forest green. She touched the tips of her fingers to her cheek, just by the faint veil of rogue there.

She knew now why Ray had stopped himself from slapping her when he'd attacked her. It was so odd, her face was creamy white, untouched, like blank canvas. And then just below her chin—the blues, reds and purples started like the beginning of a story that unfolded down her neck to her shoulders and arms, to her back—the terrifying tale of her ordeal the previous day. It wasn't the worst she'd ever gotten from him, but it had been so long since he'd marked her body in this way. It felt worse somehow, and more painful.

Her fingers worked delicately with the subtle fastenings at the top of her blouse. It was a fine blouse, pretty and white with long sleeves that gathered by her wrists. The gatherings weren't too tight which was good—the material wouldn't scratch much against her bruised skin underneath. A lacy jabot cascaded down the front of the blouse from the high neck collar and her fingers paused to feel the dainty lace decoration before she carefully did up the collar. It fitted quite loosely around her throat, so it didn't cause her too much pain, and it went high enough to conceal the blue and purple imprints of his fingers. His marks disappeared as she finished with the last fastening, and she turned her head left, then right. She would need to wear her hair down. If she angled her head in certain ways, some of the bruising was faintly visible at the top of the collar, but her hair would cover that.

It didn't matter much to her. She felt like having her hair down today anyway.

As she settled a flower-clip at the top of her head to keep some of the curls out of her face, she thought about how strange it was, going through this routine again. Hiding his marks before meeting the outside world. And this time, it wasn't just anybody she would be facing, but the person who probably knew her better than anyone else.

Last night when her uncle had come home, she avoided him by pretending to be asleep. Pretend-sleeping was something she'd practiced a lot over the last three years and she'd gotten very good at it. Even so, it had never stopped her husband from doing as he wanted with her and from taking his pleasure.

But last night, when she'd heard her uncle in the foyer downstairs, she'd turned on her side in the bed and kept her back to the door of her bedroom. With the bed-covers drawn all the way up to her chin, she'd stayed still as she heard him come up the stairs and to her room. She'd done it because she knew that he wouldn't have the heart to wake her up, and she had been right. He'd opened the door quietly, said her name once in a muted tone to check if she was asleep. She hadn't answered him. But then she'd almost given herself away when he came into the room and she felt his hand on her cheek, feeling for a fever. Somehow, she'd managed not to burst out crying and he'd left the room again.

But now, there was no hiding from him anymore and he was waiting for her downstairs.

She stood stiffly from the upholstered bench by the dresser-table and checked herself one last time in the mirror. He would know that she wasn't well and healthy because she certainly didn't look it. But she prayed that he would keep thinking she was ill and that he would leave and go about his day, so she could do what she needed to. Her gaze drifted down to the envelope lying on the dresser. Inside that envelope was the letter she'd spent most of the night writing. It was a letter for her uncle, explaining _everything._ About her strange behavior, about Ray Bradshaw, about Joe . . . even though she didn't know exactly what had happened to Joe. All she knew was that he had been hurt and because of her.

In that letter, she'd told it all, and she'd explained what she was going to do today and why she had to. She'd also included something at the end for her uncle to give to Adam. Deep in her heart, she still had the tiny hope that this letter wouldn't be necessary and that she would be able to say all these things in person. But the likelihood of that happening seemed so remote.

Her mind was made up though, she would do what she could to end this today—whatever the cost. Even if the price was her life. She would rather be dead than be forced to start over again with Ray Bradshaw.

Her appearance now in order, she walked across the floor to her bedroom door.

This sensation was so surreal because while every physical movement she made was tainted by pain—emotionally, she felt numb. It was as if there was just too much to feel that her emotions simply couldn't keep up anymore and now they were frozen. Cold and distant, not hers but someone else's. In her numbed state, she had the sense that she was treading on fragile ground, balancing along an invisible floor that would crumble with the slightest misstep. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Out into the hallway, down the stairs, and she continued down the hall to the kitchen. As she neared the doorway, she caught a whiff of coffee and something burnt. And the sound of her uncle's muttering. When she came into the kitchen, he looked over at her from the stove.

"Good morning, my Belle . . ."

"Good morning." Avoiding his gaze, she went straight to the kitchen table, which had already been set with dishware, and sat down. "I'm sorry, but I was so tired yesterday evening, I just couldn't stay up to wait for you . . ."

"That's all right," he said as he came over, holding a smudged dish towel. "I'm just glad you got some rest." He studied her with a spreading frown. "You still look very tired though, Madeline . . ."

"Yes . . . I suppose you were right about me being a little under the weather."

She bowed her head as a thick, unusual silence lay between them.

"I ah . . . well, I thought I'd make us breakfast but as you see, it . . ." He motioned to the stove and she spotted the burnt remnants of ham and scrambled eggs. ". . . It didn't turn out so well this morning, I'm afraid. I'll make up a new batch in a minute."

He went to the kitchen worktable to get a porcelain teapot. "Your tea is ready though, just the way you like it."

A quiet "thank you," was all she could get out when he set the pot down in front of her next to her favorite teacup, and the muscles of her chest clutched at all the effort he'd gone to.

"I'm sorry that . . . we don't have as much time as I'd hoped, I have to leave soon to go on house calls . . ."

The teacup became her focal-point—she couldn't bear to look at him. She felt so horribly deceitful and his dispirited tone twisted like a knife in her gut.

"Please don't worry about that, uncle Paul. I know how important your work is and you have people counting on you . . . you'll be going out of town, won't you?"

"I was going to, but I have some patients I still need to see in town that I missed yesterday."

"Oh . . ." Her hands folded tightly around the cup. "I see . . ."

She sensed him sit down in the chair next to her.

"Madeline, before I leave, I did want us to talk about Adam . . ."

"Yes, I know."

Lifting her chin, she met him with a resolved look. "If you would take me, I think we should go out to the Ponderosa later today when you have finished work."

The words of persuasion he'd probably prepared for this talk seemed to get stuck in his throat. What he said instead was, "You, uh . . . you want to go and see him?"

"Yes, I think it's best."

". . . Yes, it, yes indeed it is!" His baffled countenance flitted towards elation, but he was still too dumbstruck to work up a full smile. "I just didn't think you would . . . he'll be so happy to see you, Madeline, it . . . it'll be just what he needs. I'm so pleased you've come to this decision."

She dipped her head, knowing full well that if she opened her mouth to reply just then, she would end up releasing a sob. She'd told so many lies already, this one should be no different . . . and at least it would give her uncle some peace of mind for a few hours.

"We'll go when I come home this afternoon!" With sudden vigor, he stood up. "I'll get this breakfast finished so I can go on my way. The sooner I come back, the sooner we can get going."

She began to stand, hiding a slight wince when the movement jolted the ache that covered her back. "I'll help you with the eggs—"

"Nonsense, you just sit down and rest while I get this ready," he ordered and strode back to the stove.

Feeling too weak to protest, she lowered herself back down into the chair. After a couple of minutes of watching his chaotic cooking, she heard herself speak.

"I love you, Uncle Paul."

He turned around to her and the smile he must have been wearing for the last couple of minutes wilted a bit. "Why, I love you too, my little Belle . . . what brought that on?"

"I don't know . . ." She managed a smile, teary though it was. "I just needed to say it today, I suppose."

"I know that today will be a tough day for you, but . . . believe me, you're doing the right thing. In fact, it's the only thing you _can_ do."

After a brief hesitation, she nodded and he went back to salvage his cooking. She drew into herself then, praying that he would be able to forgive her someday for this conversation.

xXXx

It was a fine day for the annual rodeo in Virginia City. After the previous day's bleak weather and downpours, there was still a hint of that after-rain freshness in the air, but the grey skies had passed and left just a thin cloud-trail behind which would soon be consumed by pure blue. The summer-fierceness was gone, replaced by that special touch of fall, but for the first day of the month of September, it was fairly warm.

The vibrancy of the town seemed to have rebounded with the return of sunshine and every street was a hum of activity. Excited cowboys conversed about the rodeo event while women's voices blathered enthusiastically as if there was suddenly a year's worth of gossip to discuss after one rainy day. As for the town's youngest citizens, the children, well, they were like little fireballs of bottled-up energy, many of them shooting up and down the boardwalks, weaving around the adults. Inevitably, that brought about clashes and one such collision had just occurred outside of Mr. Baxter's General Store where three remorseful-looking boys were now gathering the dozens of apples that had spilled out into the street after an animated game of "tag" had come to a crashing end.

The masses of people were primarily being drawn to the end of C Street—past the livery stable and the blacksmith shop to where the rodeo was being held near the edge of town. There would be several shows and competitions there throughout the day and cowboys were lining up for the bronc-busting already, hoping to win some prizes. Colorful buntings decorated the buildings and salesmen stood about shouting to the crowd, advertising food, drinks and all sorts of rodeo-related merchandise.

That was what Virginia City was like when the Cartwright family rode into town at noon—all four of them. Adam and Ben rode their horses in front and trailing after them were the two younger family members. Hoss drove the buckboard and little Joe was sitting in the back along with a mound of pillows.

The youngest Cartwright hadn't been happy at all with this manner of transportation and he'd expressed that through a bit of silent sulking during the ride from the ranch. But now that they'd entered town, he was too intrigued by all the commotion going on around him to be miffed and he sat upright, so he could see more.

The only reason he was even here, was thanks to his own remarkable persuasion skills, helped by a few backing words from Hoss and Adam's sensible reasoning that Joe needed to talk with Roy in person anyway about the bushwhackers. Together, the brothers had won their pa over and Joe had been allowed to go with his family to town on the condition that he rode in the buggy where he could rest. It had been Joe's natural reaction to protest, but now that they'd arrived, he felt quite relieved that he hadn't been on horseback for the last two hours. Although he tried to hide it, he was sore in every part of his body and despite Hoss' mindful driving and effort to avoid potholes in the road, he still felt every ache and pain just from sitting in the buggy on pillows. He wasn't up for sitting a horse right now and his family knew it even if he wouldn't admit it.

Joe was just glad to be here with them, in town for the annual rodeo event. In truth, the rodeo wasn't all as important to him as he'd made it seem. He just had this strong need to be with his family and especially Adam now that he was himself again. Also, Joe knew that his pa and brothers would try to track down the men who'd bushwhacked him, and he wasn't about to let them do that without him.

"Are you all right, Joseph?"

Joe looked up past Hoss and saw that his father had turned in the saddle.

"Yea, I'm fine, Pa."

Ben gave his youngest boy a scrutinizing once-over.

"All right. Just remember not to overdo things today." His gaze shifted to include Hoss. "After you've put up the horses at the livery stable I want you to meet me at the sheriff's office to speak with Roy."

"Sure, Pa," the brothers replied in unison.

Twisting back around, Ben aimed his next assessing look at his eldest riding next to him.

"And what about you?"

Adam concentrated on the busy street ahead. "What about me?"

". . . Are _you_ all right, son?"

It took a moment before an answer came. "I'm going to see her, Pa. No matter what you say."

"I know that, Adam. When you insisted on coming to town today I didn't try to talk you out of it and I'm not trying to dissuade you from seeing her now. But I also know that you're upset about what happened to your brother and I don't want you to go about this the wrong way . . ." Ben watched Adam's profile intently. "Madeline probably has no idea about Joe being attacked."

The hardness in Adam's features lessened and his back curved slightly as some of the rigidity left him.

"I'm not gonna go flying off the handle. I just want to ask her a few questions about what happened when she talked to Joe yesterday, that's all."

"All right then . . . just remember that she _was_ going to come out and see you today . . ."

"It doesn't mean anything if Joe pressured her into it, Pa."

Having no response for that, Ben rode along next to his son, but kept watching him.

Adam wore his habitual dark clothing, and had his black Stetson drawn down across his brow. Even though he'd shaved just yesterday, a light dusting of stubble already covered his chin and cheeks again and now that the heavy beard was gone, there was a faint bruise on the right side of his jaw where Fred Clayton had gotten a good punch in that night at the Bucket of Blood. The shirt-sleeve on his left arm was rolled up, revealing the fresh, white bandage that Hop Sing had changed earlier and although Adam could usually hide most things from most people, Ben could tell that he was in pain. The perceptive father had noticed the subtle winces that mounting Sport had provoked and the way Adam kept his injured arm cradled against his side—probably without even being aware of it. He'd been quiet all morning and for the whole ride to town, but while he looked pale and tired, there was also an aura of determination about him. Ben had the odd feeling that Adam would need it to get him through this day. The feeling was only strengthened when he noted the whispers and copious stares that were being aimed at his firstborn.

It wasn't surprising really; Adam hadn't been to town since the Bucket of Blood-disaster and the gossip about him was of course even more noteworthy because his behavior that night had been so out of character. Add to that the situation with Madeline which everyone undoubtedly knew about too . . .

It started to get to Ben as the whispering ramped up and he was filled with anger towards those insensitive people who had no idea about the trials his son had gone through and continued to struggle with. When he glanced at Adam to see his reaction, he saw the exact opposite. Which was a non-reaction. Adam's face was stoic as ever, showing no emotion of any kind.

As the family got to the heart of town where the International House was, they split up. Since they planned to stick around for a few hours at least, they'd decided to put up the horses at the livery stable. Ben dismounted outside the bank and handed Buck's reins to Adam, saying that he would see if he could find Roy while they took care of the mounts. After agreeing to meet up again after, Adam led the way down the street for his brothers at the fastest pace the crowd of horses and buggies allowed.

Ben lingered to watch his sons until they were gone, and then went in search of Roy. He walked to the sheriff's office first but found that the front door was locked which obviously meant that his friend was elsewhere. Mildly frustrated by that, the Cartwright wandered around, keeping an eye out for Roy or Deputy Andrew or for anyone he'd be able to ask about the sheriff's whereabouts. Ever since finding out about the attack on Joe, Ben had kept calm in an effort to prevent his two oldest sons from going off half-cocked and getting into more trouble. But the fact of the matter was that he was just as eager as Adam and Hoss to find the cowards who'd dared ambush his youngest boy. He couldn't relax until he'd found them and seen that they were brought to justice. However, Roy's assistance was frankly indispensable in the _bringing-them-to-justice_ part, and Ben became increasingly annoyed when he still saw no sign of the lawman now that he really needed him.

Deciding to put his search on hold, he stopped in the shade of the tin roof outside the bank. He was surveying the street when a stranger's voice suddenly addressed him.

"Excuse me, Ben Cartwright isn't it?"

Ben shifted sideways and faced a finely-dressed man standing just there as if he'd appeared out of nowhere.

"Yes, it is . . ."

The man did a graceful bow and removed his bowler-hat. "I thought so." He offered his hand as well as a civil smile. "Chris Barns, good day to you."

"Good day, Mr. Barns," Ben said, shaking his hand. There was nothing even remotely familiar about the man. With greetings over, the ensuing silence was filled with some awkward foot-shuffling on Ben's part.

"I'm sorry, do we know each other?"

Mr. Barns' expression didn't change at all. "Forgive me sir, but I've heard so much about you, I feel like I do know you already. No, we haven't met, but I know your son Adam."

"Oh, you're a friend of my son?"

"Yes, I am, we met a few days ago. I was present when the troublesome Mr. Clayton fought Adam at the saloon and I helped Sheriff Coffee look for him afterwards to make sure he was all right. I also gave a witness statement in Adam's defense. Terribly unpleasant incident, that was."

"I see . . ." Ben said, trying to remember if Adam had mentioned anything about this man, but his mind was coming up blank. But then, Adam had been in his own little bubble the last couple of days, so it wasn't any wonder if he hadn't. Ben did suddenly recall Roy saying something about a witness speaking out in Adam's defense. This must be that man.

"Well, I thank you, I appreciate what you did for my son, Mr. Barns."

"Please, I only did what any upstanding citizen would have done," Barns said modestly. "I do hope he is feeling better? He wasn't all that well last I saw him."

"He's doing quite well now, thank you."

"I'm pleased to hear that. He has been on my mind a great deal these last few days, you see."

Forgetting all rules of proper decorum, Ben made no reply. He was too fascinated by the immovable, white smile that seemed attached to the man's face.

"Well . . . I just happened to see you standing here, Mr. Cartwright and I remembered that Adam encouraged me to speak to you about this enterprise I'm involved in. Perhaps he mentioned it? The San Francisco-Fresno Railroad?"

Ben's sight moved up to Mr. Barns' bright-blue pools. "No, actually he didn't . . ."

"He must have forgotten then. But I would be thrilled to have the chance to discuss the project with you. It's my understanding that you have had several investment dealings with the railroad in the past? If you have no other plans, perhaps we could share lunch today while I explain it in further detail?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Barns, but the timing is a bit unfortunate right now," Ben said in a polite tone. "I have some personal matters to attend to today. Maybe some other time?"

He didn't want to be rude or ungrateful to the man who'd apparently helped Adam out, but railroad investments were honestly the last thing on his mind today.

"Oh, that's very unfortunate indeed." For the first time, the white smile faltered as Mr. Barns continued. "The thing is, I'll only be in town for another day or two . . ." Stroking his mahogany mustache, his smile suddenly bounced back in place. "Then might I just invite you for a cup of coffee? I won't take up much of your time, I'll just present my enterprise and leave it up to your consideration."

Ben was struggling to come up with a polite way of declining the new offer when the man spoke once more.

"It would be a positively delightful way of ending my visit here in Virginia City, sitting down with a successful businessman of your caliber, Mr. Cartwright."

"Well, I . . ." Ben finally nodded at the expectant man. "All right, Mr. Barns. It would be my pleasure too."

"Excellent! Why don't we meet at the International House at"—He checked his pocket-watch dangling from his suit-jacket—"say one o'clock?"

"Yes, that sounds fine."

"Good." He replaced his bowler-hat on top of his head. "Oh, by the way . . . is Adam in town today? Perhaps he could join us if he is . . ."

"He is in town, but I'm afraid he has a few things to see to, so I doubt he'll have time to join us."

"Ah, what a pity, I should have liked to speak with him again before I leave. Well, maybe I'll run into him at some point." Mr. Barns tipped his head respectfully. "I shall look forward to seeing you very shortly then, Mr. Cartwright."

"Yes, me too, Mr. Barns . . ."

Flashing his white teeth once more, Mr. Barns stepped around Ben and fell into a self-assured gait down the boardwalk.

Ben couldn't help but watch the departing man. A peculiar man, he thought to himself. It was a type of peculiar that couldn't be defined. Outwardly, Chris Barns seemed to be a gentleman without flaw; confident and agreeable in every way—fancy grey-suit attire to complement the civil manners he wore so aptly. Yes, quite a perfect gentleman, Ben thought. And downright peculiar.

xXXx

Ray rounded the corner of the Land Office and stopped to wait for the man following him to catch up. He'd given all his men firm orders not to approach him out in public unless it was strictly necessary, but Frank had been on his tail since his talk with Ben Cartwright and he knew there must be a reason for it. There weren't too many people around here and he stood in the shade until the man he'd awaited came lumbering around the corner.

"Mr. Bradshaw—"

"It's Barns here, you imbecile!" Ray bit out.

"Sorry . . . Mr. Barns." The man stretched out a huge arm, at the end of which was a meaty hand holding an envelope. "We just caught a messenger who was about to deliver this to the sheriff's office."

Ray took the envelope and opened it. He unfolded the paper and pointed a mustache frown at the short message.

"Once again, I'm left with no choice . . ."

Hands folded in front of him, the man stood with his back straight and asked, "What would you like us to do, sir?"

In a resigned manner, Ray refolded the message neatly again. "You come with me, Frank. You'll be on watch, but _I_ will handle this."

"Yes, sir."

xXXx

Meanwhile, it had been slow going as the Cartwright brothers had navigated the huddled street and it took longer than expected to get to the livery stable. There weren't many free stalls, but old Luke the stable keeper had managed to find room for the horses and a spot where the buckboard could be. A little way further down the street from the stables was the entrance to the rodeo event—a huge banner stretched between the buildings on either side of the road. The brothers could hear the noise and cheers from the crowd that had gathered down by the corral and still more people were heading that direction. The bronc-busting contest was well underway by the sounds of things, and Hoss and Adam sensed Joe's disappointment. If he had been up for it, he would have competed, and he likely would have won the thing too. Hoss gave his shoulder a light pat and said that there would be plenty of other rodeos.

Keeping a slow pace for Joe's sake, the three walked back up the street to meet their pa and the sheriff, but they'd only gotten a few hundred feet when a group of young ladies stopped them in their tracks. Adam and Hoss backed up as Joe was rushed by a flood of concerned, shrilly voices asking him what had happened. With his dark-blue shiner now in full bloom, Joe assured the girls that he was all right, that he'd had much worse, but he didn't seem to mind the sympathetic strokes to his cheek and the worried looks he was receiving in abundance. Watching the spectacle, Adam thought that although the kid was undoubtedly sore, being in the center of some lovely female attention probably eased the pain a little.

Almost ten minutes later, Adam and Hoss had taken up position on the boardwalk—Hoss leaning forwards with his arms resting on the railing and Adam standing beside him as they observed the perfume-scented wall of flounced skirts and bonnets that was keeping their younger brother from view down on the street. Adam adjusted his stance restlessly, his fingers picking at the edge of the bandage by his left wrist.

"I haven't got time for this," he mumbled and eyed the scene as if he expected his statement to make the group of women disperse. When it didn't, he looked at Hoss.

"I'm going to talk with Madeline. Can you make sure Joe gets to Pa and Roy whenever he's done with . . ." To finish his sentence, he simply flapped a hand at the ladies.

Hoss straightened up. "Yea, right, I'll make sure . . ."

Turning, Adam was about to continue up the boardwalk when Hoss spoke in a rush behind him.

"Maybe ya should wait and I kin come with ya after we get Joe to the sheriff . . ."

Adam stopped short and slowly twisted back, one of his dark brows arching up. "Why would I need you to come with me?"

"I ain't sayin' ya _need_ me to . . ." Hoss' head dropped along with his voice. "I kin wait outside while ya talk to her or somethin' . . ."

Scrutinizing the big man, Adam crossed his arms, deciding that the painful twinge the motion evoked was worth it to emphasize his impatience.

Hoss peered up at him. "I reckon I just thought that if things don't go well with Madeline—"

"You thought that if things don't go well with Madeline, I'll end up in a saloon, miserable and out of my head again?"

"I didn't say that, Adam . . ."

"You didn't have to," Adam said, irritated with himself that his tone carried a sharp edge that he didn't know where was coming from. "Like I told Joe yesterday—I'm fine now. So, you can all stop worrying."

Hoss' head jolted up and a burst of fierceness entered his eyes. "It ain't that we just expect ya to be fine—dang it, Adam—why can't you see that we just wanna—"

The brief, uncharacteristic show of frustration died away on a sigh as Hoss angled his body away from him and Adam was too floored to speak. He knew exactly what four-letter word his brother had meant to say at the end—the same word had been mentioned twice to him yesterday—once by Hop Sing and then by his father. It was popping up everywhere around him and yet, something was keeping him from accepting it. Why was that so hard for him? Was he really just that stubborn? When he realized that Hoss either couldn't or didn't want to say anything else, Adam tried to get back to his accustomed composed disposition.

"Look, I'll come and find you as soon as I've spoken with her . . . it won't take long."

"Yea, okay . . ."

"Right then . . ." Adam turned to walk off, wishing that Hoss would look at him again before he did. "You keep little brother out of trouble . . ."

"You just keep yur-dang-self outta trouble."

As if knowing what he needed, Hoss glanced up at him and even achieved a little smile which was more than Adam felt he deserved. But he smiled back, gratefully, then he headed up the boardwalk with brisk strides.

Madeline always worked on Thursdays and so Adam went straight to the restaurant without detouring to Paul's house, thinking she must be at work at this time. He also wanted to avoid running into the doctor if possible because in his opinion, his injured arm had been prodded quite enough already for the day. He didn't speak to anyone on the way and he was glad that people stuck to gossiping about him instead of addressing him directly.

The noise-level in the restaurant dropped the moment he stepped inside the establishment. Once again, he was the only man in a room full of women and many of them were social club members. Tuning their whispering out, he stepped up to the counter where Sally was standing, her whole face brightening as she saw him. He put his hands on the counter and he was a little surprised when she immediately grasped them with hers and smiled in barefaced relief.

"Adam . . . it's so good to see you. You're looking for Madeline?"

"Hi Sally, uh yea, I am . . . is she in the kitchen?"

"No, she has the day off today." Deep lines appeared on Sally's forehead. "She hasn't been well, Adam. In fact, I am very worried about her, I'm sure she is ill . . ."

His attention suddenly sharpened, Adam leaned across the counter. "Ill? What makes you say that?"

"She looks so exhausted and . . . oh, let's not waste time here, I don't know how to explain it to you. Just go and see her, will you?"

Frowning, he quickly nodded. "She must be at home now then?"

"Yes, I think so." Sally let go of his hands. "Adam, whatever has happened with you two, she's been unhappy ever since . . . talk to her, please?"

"I will, Sally."

He was deaf to the women's whispers drifting around him as he left the restaurant. A sudden jittery feeling had sprung up inside him, but he couldn't figure out if it had appeared because he was worried about Madeline or if there was something else too.

When he got outside on the boardwalk again, he set out on a fast walk down the street towards the town-center where he could go the most direct route to Paul's. He was still distracted, but as he came around a corner and strode past the International House, he noticed Maisy McCoy on the opposite side of the street.

Some part of his brain did envision what would soon happen since she was going in the direction where Joe was probably still swallowed up in his group of female admirers. But Adam kept going on his way, mentally apologizing to little brother in advance for doing nothing to prevent the coming awkwardness. Getting to Madeline was more important right now.

Just how ill was she? Surely, Paul would have sent for him if it was anything serious? Then again . . . why would he? Things had changed, and Adam knew he didn't really have any right to know what was going on with her. But if she wasn't feeling well, she might not be up for talking and what then?

He tried pushing his concern and pondering away and the speed of his steps increased. No, he wasn't about to give up now—he was going to do everything he could to find the men who'd attacked his brother. Madeline would just have to talk with him for a few minutes and answer his questions and then he would leave again if that was what she wanted.

He had just passed the bank when a hand landed on his shoulder, but he didn't startle because the touch was so familiar.

"Adam?"

He halted and glanced at his father who was suddenly standing next to him, regarding him questioningly.

"Oh, hey Pa . . . I didn't see you."

"I know you didn't, it's all right." Ben swung a grazing look at their surroundings. "I haven't been able to find Roy yet. Where are the boys?"

"They're somewhere between here and the livery stable." Adam locked eyes with his father. "They got held up when a few sympathetic young ladies saw Joe and wanted to make sure he was all right. He didn't exactly complain."

"Well that little . . ." Ben shook his head, probably thinking that he should have seen that one coming. "Roy isn't here yet anyway, so I'll just wait for them. Are you on your way to see Madeline now then?"

"Yea. I stopped by the restaurant, but Sally said it's her day off."

Something must've shown in his voice because Adam realized that his father now focused on him with keen interest. "Oh? Did Sally say anything else . . .?"

"Well . . . she looked very relieved to see me and said that she thinks Madeline is ill."

"Hmm." Stroking two knuckles along his chin, Ben's expression was austere. "I think it's a good idea that you go and see her."

"Yea. I'll come to the sheriff's as soon as I've spoken with her."

"All right, son." Ben delivered a quick shoulder-clap. "By the way, I just met your friend, Chris."

Adam blinked at him. "Chris who?"

"Chris Barns," Ben said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "I just talked to him."

The confusion cleared from Adam's eyes as an image of the man from the Silver Dollar emerged from his memory. "We met a couple of days ago, yes, but I wouldn't call him a friend . . ." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Did he talk to you about that railroad deal?"

"Yes, he did. I'm meeting him at the International House for coffee to discuss it at one o'clock."

"Hmm. Just . . . before you agree to anything on that one, let me check into it first, okay?"

"There's no need, Adam. I already know that I won't be making any investments. But after what he did for you, I felt it would be impolite to decline his invitation."

"What he did for me?" Adam asked, back to being confused.

"Yes . . . he gave a witness statement in your defense about that fight with Fred Clayton at the Bucket of Blood." Now Ben also looked perplexed. "I got the impression the two of you knew each other."

Adam went quiet and little creases formed under his lower eyelids. Now as he thought back on their encounter in the Silver Dollar, he remembered Mr. Barns very clearly and he also recalled the sense of eeriness the man had given off. Eeriness from a gentleman with a perfect smile, who'd shown educational and upper-class qualities in the way he'd spoken. But it had undeniably been there, that eeriness, and in spite of the state Adam had been in at the time, he'd caught onto it. The uneasy feeling he'd had then was not unlike the jittery one he had now.

"Is something wrong, Adam?"

He came back to the present, faced his father. "I don't know, I guess . . . there was just something about the guy."

"Well, you don't need to think about that now, not on top of everything else we have going on today," Ben said adamantly, giving him a little nudge to redirect him. "Go and see Madeline. We'll be waiting for you over at Roy's when you're finished."

"Yea, okay."

Doing his best to rid himself of that uncomfortable sentiment, Adam left his father and walked down the street that would take him to Paul's house.

xXXx


	30. Chapter 30

_Author's Notes_

 _Hello guys! Thank you for reviewing on the last chapter, it's so much fun for me to read your questions and thoughts about what will happen and I can feel how "on edge" you all are (which was what I was hoping for, sorry! :) Well, hold onto your hats because this thing is going down! The events in these chapters (29, 30 and 31) are very closely connected which I hope comes across_ — _there are a lot of characters involved and twists and turns that affect how the drama unfolds. It has taken me a long time and a whole lot of rewriting to get this right but I hope it works and that you enjoy the confrontation between the good guys and the bad guys after all this drama-build-up._

 _I must admit, I'm quite excited to see what you think of this chapter... and I will do my best to get chapter 31 posted as SOON as possible._

 _Okay, go Adam, go!_

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

 _ **12:30 p.m.**_

Robert Wickworth gulped down the last of his drink and set the brandy glass on the shelf of the drinks-cabinet with a smack. Dead-quiet. Everything was dead-quiet in the hotel room except for when he moved about. He looked at the door, listened for any noise coming from the hall on the other side of it, but there was nothing. He wiped the already wet handkerchief across his sizzling face and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. These days, the little cloth never got a chance to fully dry before it was put to use again. He poured himself another drink—his third in the half an hour that had passed since his partner had left after their late morning coffee. An excruciatingly long half an hour. Sipping the drink, he combed his short sausage fingers through the wisps of hair that had managed to cling onto his egg-shaped scalp.

Suddenly, the silence of the room was broken by three deliberate knocks to the door. Wickworth set his glass back down. He straightened his suit jacket around the white shirt which was stretched tightly across his round belly and went to the door. He drew in a breath—the buttons of his shirt threatening to pop—and opened the door. As he came face to face with his partner, he froze in total shock.

"What's the matter, Robert?" Barns asked. "Were you expecting someone else?"

"No . . . I, no," Wickworth stammered, his eyes darting over to a very large, dark-haired man standing to his partner's side. "You were . . . weren't you supposed to be out for the day?"

Barns smiled. "You won't mind if I come in."

Whether he minded or not, Wickworth didn't get a chance to express his opinion either way because Barns pushed past him and into the room. He stood uncertainly, wondering if the large man still out in the hall was supposed to join them as well—which he wholeheartedly hoped wasn't the case. When the man simply looked at him, emotionless, hands folded by his front, Wickworth slowly closed the door.

The temperature in the room had suddenly skyrocketed and as he turned around to his partner, he pulled at his silk-tie to loosen the collar around his thick neck. Barns was standing over by the drinks-cabinet, pouring himself a drink. Watching his partner's back in nervous anticipation, Wickworth saw Barns' arm lift as he held up a little yellow envelope.

"The sheriff? Really, Robert?"

His stomach lurched and Wickworth felt like a trapdoor had just opened under him.

"I . . . Chris, I can explain—"

"Did you really think I didn't have someone watching you too, you fool?!" Barns hissed, spinning around.

"Now, Chris it isn't what—"

"What it looks like? Oh, I see. So you _didn't_ write this message to the sheriff asking him to meet you here, hmm?"

Wickworth's mouth produced neither denial nor confirmation, instead it just flopped from open to shut and back again. Barns downed the drink, then gestured to him with the empty glass.

"I'm curious, what sort of story had you conjured up? Oh no, let me guess . . . You play the part of the innocent, well-meaning businessman who got ensnared into a railroad scam and the moment you became aware of the swindle, you called on the sheriff to . . . what is it people say out here—" Barns snapped his fingers in quick succession to summon the expression. " _Spill the beans_?"

Wickworth gulped and unknowingly moved backwards towards the door.

"Something along those lines then," Barns said, smiling again.

He started moving closer then and a glint of something utterly terrifying flashed in his eyes. It was a glint that no sane person would be able to spawn.

"I believe you noticed my associate out in the hall? Frank is . . . a very loyal man. Very pleasant too most of the time although sometimes, he lets his temper get away with him and he can be . . ." Barns chuckled, coming closer. "I'm afraid I don't quite have a word for what he can be."

Wickworth walked backwards, right until his back hit the door with an awful, muted thump.

"Chris . . . let's . . . talk about this . . ."

"Why, there's nothing to talk about, my friend. You betrayed me, Robert. And no one gets away with that."

xXXx

 _ **12:35 p.m.**_

The second he could make out the doctor's house down the street, Adam's nerves flared up again. Last time he'd seen her had been that night when he'd stumbled drunk to Paul's home—another prime example of his extraordinarily reckless behavior lately. The thing he remembered most from that whole awkward affair was her voice. It was the last thing he had any recollection of before he'd passed out, that sweet voice whispering to him like a constant, relaxing background sound, although he'd been too out of it to actually understand what she'd said. The rest from that night was pretty hazy now and frankly, he was grateful for it because he'd obviously behaved and looked terrible enough for her to be gone the next morning when he'd woken up.

He stopped outside the white-painted house and slid a look over it. For the last one and a half months, he'd felt so welcome there. Madeline had made him feel like this was his second home, despite Paul's little interventions. And now he was nothing more than a stranger who had no right to expect either warmth or hospitality. All he could hope for was probably civility.

As he climbed the stairs to the front porch, he had a sudden memory-flash when he noticed the broken porch swing lying on the floor and a wince crossed his face. He really needed to fix that thing, it was the least he could do.

He paused at the front door, and the next natural step would be to knock on it. Only, he couldn't. Here he was, feeling all weak again because in spite of his efforts to reassure Hoss just a little while ago, he wasn't sure if he could take another rejection from her. There was such a confused mix of emotions going on inside him and the shame and guilt slowly got overwhelmed by irritation and bitterness. Deep down, he resented the fact that Madeline had such a power over him. He resented her for having it and he resented himself for giving it to her. Because in return, she'd given him just a taste of the blissful wonder it was to be loved by her, and then she'd taken it away from him without explanation. She'd left him out in the cold—confused, naked and raw. And he still wanted her. Like he'd never dreamed he could ever want a woman—he wanted Madeline. He didn't know how to cope with it if she didn't want him back.

The door was still there just in front of him, the only barrier between them and he felt nowhere near ready to breach it.

But then it hit him—the whole reason why he was even there. This wasn't about him and Madeline, it was about Joe. The thought of what had been done to his kid brother revived his anger and he forced himself to turn hard, raised his hand and gave the door a round of powerful knocks.

He held his breath as the seconds went by. But just as he'd feared, and on some level expected, nothing happened. He knocked again, but there was still no response and he knew that Paul definitely wasn't home then. His mind struggled to come up with a good excuse for her—maybe she was asleep if she wasn't feeling well? It was better than the heartbreaking explanation that she was simply ignoring him.

"Madeline, we need to talk, open up."

His knocks grew considerably louder. But that door wasn't going to open, and he couldn't keep fooling himself because nobody would have slept through the last blasting hammers he'd delivered. Releasing a curse, he barely suppressed the impulse to punish the door with an aggravated kick. He turned on the porch and looked down at the street as he descended the stairs. Then, he ducked his head.

Anyone watching him, would see Adam Cartwright adjusting his hat to shade against the sun better. They would see him step off the porch stairs and assume an unhurried gait back up the street—they might even notice the slightly disappointed quality to his bearing. But what no one could see, was the fact that his heart was pounding wildly. Because he'd seen something that wasn't right. A man across the street who wasn't supposed to be there.

xXXx

Madeline stuck her head out into the hall and peeked down to the foyer. He must be gone now. When he'd first knocked, she knew it was him straight away and she'd stood paralyzed in the kitchen, first relieved, then terrified. Initially, the fact that Adam was in town today had made her think that he was feeling better—hence the relief. However, as she'd considered it, she worried that he was here because of Joe. Not knowing what had happened to the young man was a torment that took her to the point of despair and beyond that. If she was ever going to find out and put a stop to this horror, she needed to stick to her plan, although now, there were more holes in that plan than in the aged cheese her uncle liked on his bread in the mornings.

She had expected both of the men she loved most in the world to be out of town and out of danger—Adam was supposed to be at the Ponderosa and her uncle should have been doing house-calls outside of town. But she couldn't change things now. Selfishly, she was a little bit happy that Adam had come by because she had gotten to hear his voice again for what would maybe be the last time. She only wished she could have seen his face too, just to make sure that he was really better after what her uncle and Joe had told her about his condition.

Stepping back into the kitchen, she went over to open the back door.

Her uncle had left just under an hour ago and the letter she'd written to him was now lying in his desk drawer, simply signed "Belle". If her plan ended in the worst way and she wasn't around to tell her story after today, it was all written down in that cream-colored envelope, ready for him to read and share with the people who mattered.

She left the back door wide open and walked stiffly back to the kitchen table. Even lifting a kitchen chair was taxing her drained reserves and her bruised arms were so weak, she ended up just dragging the item across the floor, the chair legs scraping along the floorboards. After getting outside and closing the door behind her, she made it down the doorstep and halfway across the little back garden before taking a break. She let go of the chair and stood on the yellowed grass, eyeing the close-boarded fence that surrounded the garden.

It now seemed a lot higher than she remembered. She knew that on the other side of it was a narrow passage separating her uncle's home from the neighboring houses. It was lined by fences on both sides, so nobody would see her in that little alleyway and it ran parallel to the main street out by the front of her uncle's house. All she had to do was follow the passage and at the end of it, she would come out somewhere on C street. It was still some way from the sheriff's office, but it was the best chance she was going to get. Still, first she had to actually get over the fence . . . Well, Ray had done it several times and so could she.

 _Come on, Madeline . . . you can do this._

There was no point in delaying so she dragged the chair the rest of the way, and set it by the fence, steadying it as best she could on the grass. She lifted her lilac skirt with one hand and climbed up onto the chair, feeling it wobble under her. It really wasn't an easy thing to do, especially not with the heels on the shoes she was wearing, and she considered taking them off. Running into Sheriff Coffee's office barefooted would just be another absurd addition to this bizarre situation she found herself in. The fence was definitely higher than she'd thought—even now, standing on a chair she couldn't see over it.

She blew a frustrated puff of air out and upwards to move a curl from her face. Then she hoisted her skirts higher, leaving her petticoats on full display there in the back garden as she stretched out to the fence. Her hand had only just touched the top wooden board, when suddenly, the fence shook, and she stared in bewilderment as one black-clad arm appeared, followed by a bandaged one and then finally, the captivating face that had taken a special place in her mind since that fateful day at the county fair.

The strain vanished from Adam's expression and his eyes widened as he stared at her in a way much the same. A delayed reaction set in as she startled and let go of the fence, but she immediately lost her balance and Adam swiftly caught her hand to keep her from falling. Her heart leaped high into her throat as he pulled her back and she seized hold of the fence again. She opened her mouth, but he fixed her with a narrowed look.

"Madeline, there is absolutely _nothing_ you can say or do to stop me from coming over this fence."

Her appearance radiated unmitigated disbelief as he grimaced, hefted himself up, and swung himself over the top of the fence. He landed smoothly on the grass and straightened up. His features drawn tight, he put his hands on his hips and looked up at her.

"I want to know what's going on. _Now_."

Madeline hadn't fully left her staring-dumbly-stage, so no response from her.

"What exactly are you—" His eyes trailed down the length of her body—then _very_ quickly up again. ". . . doing?"

Her mind seemed to come back to life and she regained enough awareness to at least let go of her skirts, so they could fall down and cover her undergarments. She still couldn't speak though.

"Listen, Madeline, I'm done with—" He cut himself off with an annoyed head-shake.

Apparently deciding that it was ridiculous, speaking to her this way, he reached up to take her by the waist and lifted her down to the ground. As he did that, two things went through her muddled mind; one—it was lucky that he didn't touch her back because then she would have cried out in pain and two—he was being awfully careless with his injured arm.

"Now, what's going on?"

"Adam . . ." she said with strange detachment. "You . . . you can't be here."

Her words broke through her daze as she came to grips with the fact that he was actually here. Thankfully, he seemed to be all right but . . . he was _here_. Panic set in.

"You have to . . . you have to go . . ."

Quite calmly, he said, "I don't think so."

For the longest moment, he held her captive with his darkened gaze, shadowed under the brim of his Stetson, so impossibly intense. Not intense in a good way though and she was now having a hard time breathing. She wrenched herself free, spun around blindly, and headed for the house.

"Madeline, just tell me one thing . . ."

He said that from behind her, but she kept walking. She focused on the kitchen back door, it was the only thought she had—getting back inside that house. She grasped the door-handle but before she could press it down, Adam grabbed it too and with seemingly no effort, he applied enough pressure with just one hand that she couldn't open the door with both of hers. He was standing right next to her now. The left side of his chest was actually touching her, and she could feel the heat emanating from his body—searing through the cotton of her blouse. His scent washed over her, overtook her, sent her pulse out of control. When he bent down just a couple of inches from her face, his warm breath touched her cheek when he spoke.

"I asked you to tell me one thing . . ."

Her lashes drifted down as she tried to hold back a shiver.

". . . Why is there a man outside watching this house?"

An iciness surged through her and she put a palm against the door to brace herself. She couldn't believe that this was happening, the shock of everything was rendering her mind ineffective. Her other hand moved by its own will and tried to press the door handle down again and this time, Adam allowed it. She opened the door and floated rather than walked into the kitchen and in her turmoil of thoughts, she heard Adam follow behind her.

"I know a look-out when I see one, Madeline."

She stood by the work-bench and faced him as he threw his hat on the kitchen table and approached her. The hard look he was giving her was one she'd seen him deliver a few times in the past—but she had never been the recipient of it before.

"I noticed him when I was out on the porch. I walked back down the street, but he didn't follow me. He's still out there," Adam said, waving a hand out towards the front of the house. "Which means that it wasn't me he was watching, but this house . . ." He came nearer. "You."

She gripped her elbows as though it would help her hang onto some composure.

"I-if you leave now, I'll explain everything later . . . but I . . . I need to do something first . . . then I'll explain . . ."

He stopped right in front of her and some of his harshness eased up, but his tone was still firm. "All you need to do is explain now. To me."

"If . . . if you leave, I'll e-explain . . . "

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his words now soft. "You know that."

Yes, she knew that. But her mind was like a windmill spinning too fast, fears going around and around, rotating in her mind. Feeling queasy, she suddenly needed to hold onto something and began turning towards the kitchen work-bench.

"Damn it, Madeline, don't turn away from me—" He gripped her arm and a gasp of pain escaped her before she could contain it. He instantly yanked his hand back as if he'd touched a hot stove and their eyes clashed. The shift in his attitude was palpable when it dawned on him that his grip hadn't been near forceful enough to elicit such a reaction from her.

". . . What's wrong with your arm . . .?"

"N-nothing . . ."

She held her arm to herself, and he wavered. But then, he got to her in a half-step—seized her hand and moved her sleeve up with one vigorous tug. He went slack-jawed at the sight of the blue-purple bruising along her forearm.

"What the—" His eyes shot to hers and they sparked with comprehension. "My God . . . he found you . . ."

And that was it, now it was out. He knew.

She felt the tears coming as she tried to speak. "I'm . . . oh, Adam . . ."

Her legs refused to hold her up any longer and she fell, but he caught her—pulled her to him and they both went down together—down to the kitchen floor. After one and a half weeks of the hell she'd gone through, she wouldn't have thought she had any tears leftover at that point. But the tears were there, running like unstoppable currents down her cheeks as she wept against his shirt. Vaguely, she heard his deep voice saying things to her, soothing and calming things that contradicted the fierce pounding she felt in his chest.

As he rocked her back and forth, she realized that not all her tears stemmed from her ordeal. Most of them came from the relief of being back in his embrace—the safest, happiest place she could ever imagine being. Sitting in his lap, she clung to him like she couldn't get close enough, soaking up the comfort she'd been denied for so long, and his hold around her tightened.

They stayed like that for a long time until she felt like a little, aching puddle of exhaustion in his arms. When her head started to clear, the panic crept up on her all over again and she sat up with a lurch, half of her words getting swallowed up in rapid breaths.

"He is here Adam . . . Ray is here in Virginia City! He wants to take me away with him and he . . . they're watching me, and he said. . . said that if I told anyone he would . . . kill you, and I was so, I couldn't—"

"Shhh, slow down, just breathe honey," Adam said, brushing a few curls out of her flushed face. "It's all right, I'm here now . . ."

She forced herself to do as he said, concentrated on his hand touching her face.

"All this time . . . he's been here?" he asked.

"He came the day uncle Paul left . . . that night after you rode home. He made me write that letter to you." The memory triggered a new flow of tears and her fingers clutched his shirt with more strength than she thought she had left. "Oh, Adam I didn't mean it, any of it . . . I never wanted . . . please believe me!"

"Okay, okay, I believe you, I do, just take it easy . . ." he murmured.

It struck her that she sounded hysterical because he must have had a thousand questions going through his mind just then, but he didn't ask anything, he only pulled her against him again and told her to calm down. She searched for his voice in between the wheezing sounds that were filling the kitchen, coming from her, and he kept talking to her.

It was another endless few minutes before her fright began to subside and as it did, she was left feeling so very tired. But it wasn't the kind of tired that could be cured by a good night's sleep. It was more a physical and mental exhaustion like an extra, dreadful weight to her limps, her thoughts and emotions. She did start to become more aware again, of herself and of Adam and he sensed it too, because he stopped speaking and just held her.

"Madeline . . ." he said after a while. "I know you're upset right now, and scared . . . but you need to do something for me." With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face up to his. "You need to tell me where he is."

There was the barest hint of stiffness to his shoulders, but otherwise, his posture was completely still. Deceptively still.

"I . . . don't know where he is . . ." she said shakily.

The pink tip of his tongue darted out to swipe his lower lip.

"You must have some idea about how to find him . . ." His voice became coaxing, smooth like molasses. "Come on, honey . . . tell me."

She hesitated, held onto her reply.

"Just tell me . . . I won't do anything."

He'd just lied to her and she knew it. By the way he averted his eyes, she guessed that he knew that she did too. He carefully pushed her sleeve up to expose the bruises on her arm again and she felt him tense up.

"I'm not gonna let him get away with this, Madeline . . ."

"Adam, you need to hear everything before you go off and . . . I'm not the only one at risk." Her head dropped back to his shoulder. "This whole mess is so complicated, I don't even know where to start . . ."

"Okay, I . . . okay," he mumbled, whether to himself or to her, she wasn't sure. "So, start from the beginning . . . he came here that night and what then?"

"He has men working for him and they have been watching me constantly ever since. That's why I couldn't tell you or Uncle Paul what was going on. I couldn't leave town, I couldn't do anything . . . Ray threatened to kill you and my uncle if I didn't do as he said." Her head lifted again, so she could see Adam properly. "Ray saw us together in town and he wanted me to stay away from you. He . . . he has been trying to make money enough to take me away with him to start a new life together."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Adam said, like he'd just settled that matter, and directed his attention at her arm again. "What about this?"

"Yesterday morning, when my uncle came home after visiting you, he told me that . . . he was worried about you . . ."

She paused to study him. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been in such a terrible state and she had been sick with worry for him since. She suddenly wanted to hear about him and ask him if he was all right, but before she could, he urged her to continue.

"What happened then?"

Without any other words, he managed to convey to her that he wouldn't give anything away about himself, not right now.

"I knew that I had to do something," she went on, "and I thought if I could only get to Sheriff Coffee, he could help me. I was on my way to the sheriff's office, I didn't . . . didn't know that Ray was there and then Joe—" Her eyes grew huge. "Joe! Is he all right?!"

"Wait . . . Ray Bradshaw did that to my brother?" Adam asked, his tone filling with dangerous intent.

"Ray ordered his men to go after Joe . . ." she whispered. "What happened to him?"

"Joe was beaten up and left on the muddy road outside of town."

Adam said it with brutal frankness and a gasp of despair rushed from her lips.

He breathed out slowly. "You have to tell me where this guy is."

"Oh, Joe . . . what have I done . . ."

She tried to free herself from Adam's hold, shaking her head, but she didn't realize that the motion made her hair bounce in waves around her neck and shoulders.

"Just say where—" He froze, squinted at the top of her blouse. "What . . ."

Moving her hair away, he hooked a finger in her blouse-collar and pulled it down before she could stop him.

"Oh my—"

He brought a clenched fist to his mouth—gaped at the horrible bruising with an expression of a man under torture. Then his eyes flew up to hers, livid hazel blazing murderously.

"TELL ME NOW—or I swear to God—I'll go out and I _WILL_ find him myself!"

She flinched, her hand shooting up to the top of her chest, trying to keep her heart from leaping out. He stared at her, his nostrils flaring wildly but when she didn't speak, he jerked away from her, moving to stand up.

In complete desperation she grabbed at his damp shirtfront and tugged him down again.

"No, Adam!"

"Madeline, LET ME—"

"No!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him on the floor with her as she whispered in his ear. "Please calm down, please, please . . ."

His whole body shook with rage straining to be released, as if it was coiling tightly just beneath the surface of his skin. The power radiating from his strong frame almost frightened her, but then she reminded herself that this was Adam—the gentlest, kindest man she'd ever known, and he would never hurt her. The seconds drummed by, and she prayed that he would find a way to conquer his temper because she was convinced that if he left now in this mood, she would lose him.

When his arms finally folded around her, she wanted to weep afresh. She leaned back and saw that implacable something in his countenance had changed into something softer.

"I'm sorry . . . I just can't stand to see . . ." He sighed. "Look, nothing is going to happen to me. It'll be an honest duel, just me and him. No matter how good he is—I'll be better, you know I will . . ."

Raising her hand, she stroked her fingers along his rugged jawline, stopping by the faint bruise there. "I know you would . . . and so does he. That's the whole point, Adam. He knows who you are, _what_ you are. He would never meet you in a duel. He would have someone waiting for you . . . or following you, or . . . he might even have someone shoot you down in the middle of the street! _Please_ understand— _that_ is the kind of man he is!"

She moved her fingers to his lips, blocking the protest he was about to make, and she mustered up her most imploring look for him. His resolve faltered, and he looked pained about what she was asking of him. But she didn't care—the only thing that mattered to her was keeping him from getting hurt or killed. She lowered her hand.

"All right . . ." he said. "We'll figure this thing out together . . . okay?"

Relaxing against him, she nodded tiredly.

"Right . . . Do you have any idea how many men he has working for him?"

"I can't be sure, but I've counted five different men watching me . . ."

"And the man out front, he always stays there?"

"Yes, unless I leave the house. Then he follows me."

". . . He followed you yesterday?"

"Yes . . . he saw Joe and I talking. Before I could get to the sheriff, Ray appeared, and he . . . caught me. He said that Joe would pay the price for what I had tried to do." Her throat welled up with guilt. "I'm so sorry . . ."

"Hey . . ." Adam cupped the apple of her cheek with his palm. "None of this is your fault, honey."

With immense gentleness, he brought his hand down to her collar again.

"Is that when he did this to you?"

"Yes." Her lip trembled. "I thought that . . . I thought he was going to kill me . . ."

Withdrawing his hand from her collar, Adam peered straight into her shiny green orbs.

"I _have_ to know, Madeline . . ." He swallowed laboriously. "In the time he's been here, alone with you . . . has he . . . ?"

She quickly bowed her head when she understood what he was trying to ask. "No. No he hasn't . . . not _that_."

"Please look at me . . ."

Her eyes raised to meet his and they didn't waver as he searched them for the truth. When he found it, his shoulders slumped in relief and his eyelids closed as he pulled her to his chest again.

"When is Paul coming home?"

"Not until this afternoon, he is doing house calls in town."

Adam seemed to do some mental deliberating and she was content to let him, almost drifting off in his arms.

"All right," he abruptly said, "first, we need to go up and pack you a bag of clothes and whatever things you need."

Unsure if she'd heard correctly, she sat upright again. "You mean. . . you're taking me with you?"

"Damn right I am."

He shifted, got to his feet and bent down to help her up and out of her sudden daze.

"You mean . . . after everything that has happened, you . . . you still—"

"I love you sweetheart," he said as he supported her, kept her close. "I love you more than anything, more than I can ever describe."

It felt like her heart was going to burst and the feeling was so overwhelming, she almost couldn't get the words out but she had to, she needed him to know too.

"I love you too . . ." She hugged him as tightly as the aches covering her body would allow. "I love you so much, Adam."

When she drew back, her joy was swiftly banished by the perilous reality of their situation.

". . . _How_ are we going to do this? We can't leave this house . . ."

"We'll crawl over the fence, like I did before. The man out front won't know you've left."

"But . . . but what then? Ray has more men and they're all over town. We can't be seen walking down the street together . . ."

"We only need to make it to the livery stable, so we can get some transportation." Adam's hands dropped down to his sides. "All I care about is getting you to the Ponderosa."

"No, Adam, I can't do that," she said, surprising herself with the fierceness arising in her tone. "Not without Uncle Paul."

"Madeline . . ." The distinct beginnings of exasperation showed in the way he said her name. "Paul isn't the one they're after."

"But if Ray finds out I'm gone, he will . . . No. I am not leaving without Uncle Paul."

And there it was—his full-fledged exasperation gained its release through a harsh exhale as Adam paced away from her. She watched him, wondering just how many times she could push him to his limits and still ask him to compose himself. The worst was still to come though because she'd already recognized what they needed to do. And no amount of his pacing or scowling would change it.

"There is only one thing we can do . . ."

Adam halted, whirled back around. "Don't even say it because that's the one thing that isn't—"

"You need to leave me here."

"—going to happen. No, Madeline, it's out of the question."

"We need help," she said, moving over to him. "We need the sheriff and anyone else who will help us. Uncle Paul is out there, unaware of the threat to him and you need to warn him."

"No, let's just . . ." He raked a hand through his hair. ". . . think about this . . ."

"We can't leave this house together and risk being seen by Ray's men."

He threw his arms out in the air. "So, we'll wait here together, until Paul comes home!"

"Then we will be in the same position as now, only with him in the middle of it too. Is your family in town? Wouldn't they come here looking for you if you stayed here for that long?"

She had her answers to both questions when his sight flickered away from her.

"We have no choice." She touched his good arm in an attempt to reassure him as well as herself. "I will be fine here. Ray hasn't come into this house since Uncle Paul returned home."

A pause stretched out until Adam spoke with a calm that she really hadn't expected.

"If you want me to go along with this, you'll have to tell me this." His gaze was unrelenting as he regarded her. "Is he going by his real name Ray Bradshaw here in town or something else?"

She stiffened. Something was extremely wrong with the fact that he was asking a question directed straight at the piece of information she had deliberately kept from him. Ray's other identity—the one way there was of seeking her husband out. What really frightened her, was that Adam had such an odd, anticipating look on his face—not like he was asking her to share this information . . . but more like he was waiting for her to confirm what he already believed to be true.

"Why are you asking me that . . .?" she breathed.

Adam nodded as if her question was an answer. "He's calling himself Chris Barns, isn't he?"

The simple sentence struck her very core like a bolt of lightning. "How did you know that?"

Adam didn't reply but dug into his pocket to get out his pocket-watch. She couldn't quite grasp that he would choose such a moment to carry out a task as mundane as checking the time. He snapped the clock shut and put it away again.

"My father started a business meeting at one o'clock, five minutes ago, with a man named Chris Barns."

His controlled speech didn't seem at all appropriate for that statement and she gawked at him. "Adam! You have to warn your father!"

He tipped his head sideways. "What would Ray gain by harming my father? He would only be drawing unwanted attention to himself—they're meeting at the International House. It's a game to him, he's playing with you, with me, with all of us." Adam rubbed his chin roughly. "But if he's made plans to meet with my father, he won't be coming here . . ."

With a sudden decisiveness, he stepped over to grab his hat from the kitchen table. "I'll be as quick as I can. I'm gonna find Roy, tell him what's going on and he can get some men together." Taking hold of her hand, Adam led her over to the back door and her mind was fighting to keep up with what was happening. "I'll come straight back here. Roy can send someone to find Paul and make sure he gets to a safe place."

Everything was so tense, a hundred things could go wrong and yet, there was an assertiveness to Adam's movements and a power to the way he spoke that calmed her. It made her start to believe that this thing might turn out okay after all. He opened the back door and faced her.

"You don't open the doors to anyone—and I mean ANYONE. Promise me that."

"Yes . . . yes, I promise."

He squeezed her hand. " _If_ I'm not back here within twenty minutes, you leave the house and go down to the rodeo where there are plenty of people, okay? I _will_ come for you."

She pressed her lips together, her lashes blinking rapidly.

"Everything is going to be all right," he said softly. "Go up and pack a bag while you're waiting."

She wanted to tell him to be careful, wanted to say she loved him again. But she couldn't speak. The plan was set and ironically—out of the two of them—she was now the one hesitating. Luckily, Adam didn't allow himself to. He released her hand, jumped down from the doorstep and she was expecting him to use the chair to get back over the fence. But he loped across the grass, gaining speed as he neared the fence, then he leaped up, his boots kicking against the wooden planks to give him the last boost he needed to grab the top board. He climbed up and swung himself over the fence and out of her sight.

She remained standing on the doorstep for a bit, wondering if these last twenty minutes of her life had been real or a dream. But she realized it was real because she could still _feel_ him. She felt his arms around her, and his hand on her cheek, like the ghost of his loving touch lingered on her skin.

Adam would come for her just like he'd said he would. Concentrating on that thought, she walked out into the garden to retrieve the lone kitchen chair.

xXXx

 _ **1:10 p.m.**_

Ray marched down the street, rather pleased that the boardwalk was quite deserted in this part of town because of the rodeo. Even though he was under a bit of time pressure, this was as fast as he would go. Despite the situation, he wasn't about to break into anything as uncivilized as a run.

Once he arrived at the white house, he jerked his head at the man across the road who quickly came over to him.

"There has been a change of plan, Ned," he said. "We're leaving now."

"All right, Mr. Barns. I'll alert the others."

"Frank is already gathering them, they're meeting us at the livery stable." Ray inclined his head at the house. "Has she left today at all?"

"No, sir. The dark Cartwright fella came by, but she didn't open when he knocked so he left again."

Ray's lips curled back in distaste. "One might admire the man's tenacity if it wasn't so exceedingly bothersome."

After doing a swift glance around to make sure they weren't being observed, he gestured for Ned to follow him up the porch stairs. He walked along the deck, past a porch swing in need of repair, and went to the right side of the house where he crawled over the porch railing. There was no time to go through the alleyway and over the fence to get into the back garden and although it was a tight squeeze between the side of the house and the boarded fence, a man could walk along there. He went through the passage and came out in the garden.

"If she isn't in the kitchen already, we'll gain entrance by ourselves," he said as his employee followed him to the kitchen back door.

Standing on the doorstep, Ray peeked in through one of the eight window sheets that decorated the top half of the door. The kitchen was empty. With no time to waste now that the front of the house was unguarded, he stepped back.

"If you will, Ned."

"Yes, sir."

Ned was a tall man of a strong build, another of Ray's employees who'd travelled with him from Georgia. One of his most trusted men too, Ned had been the one with the main responsibility of watching Madeline while they'd been in Virginia City, so it was fitting that he assisted in collecting her.

He effectively broke through one of the little sheets with a thrust of his elbow and the glass-shatter was surprisingly muted due to the small size of the window sheet. Reaching his hand inside, he felt for the bolt on the door. Once the door was unlocked, Ned backed away, and Ray opened it. He had only just walked into the quiet kitchen when he heard a sound from the hall which he recognized was his wife coming down the stairs. He got to the hallway in the same instant Madeline descended the last step of the staircase. It was clear that she hadn't noticed him. She was busy fiddling with the buckle of the carpet bag she was holding.

"What's all this then, dear?"

She jumped as her head shot in his direction. The bag landed on the floor with a dull thud. She looked particularly pretty today, he thought. He'd always loved the color purple on her and how perfect it was, that she would wear that for their travelling. Like she'd worn it especially for him.

"Look at that . . . you packed a bag already," he said tonelessly as he walked towards her. "How foreseeing of you."

He had really hoped she wouldn't, but she did—she tried to get away. She ran for the front door, so he had to stop her. Such a shame that she did that because he felt that it was a bad way of starting off their new life. He peeled her fingers from the door latch and hugged her, but he must have done it with too much force since she shrieked in agony. He gazed at her perfect face and now he could see that she'd been crying. He hated when she cried. There was that odd rushing sensation in his ears and he couldn't hear what she said but she looked upset and she was trying to push him away. Everything would get better once they were far away from this place.

"Now that you're all packed, we can leave, Madeline." He smiled at her and kept his arms caged around her, lest she fall and hurt herself.

"Ray, I don't want to go with you!"

A profound hurt crashed in and filled the nothingness inside him.

"I've had . . . a somewhat trying day so far," he mumbled, stroking her hair. "I need you to be a good wife for me now."

"Let me go!"

He couldn't understand why she was making things so difficult and it really was her own doing when he towed her back down the hallway to the kitchen where Ned stood waiting.

"Take her bag."

Ned went to retrieve the bag and Ray felt better then. At least someone would do what he said. Madeline continued to fight with him and his anger was building. They couldn't go anywhere when she was like this. When Ned came back with the bag, Ray gave his wife a shake.

"Stop it or you know what will happen!"

The admonition seemed to echo in the kitchen when a distinctive noise down the hall froze the room's three occupants to their respective spots.

"It's only me, Madeline," a voice called from the foyer. "I just forgot some medicine for Mrs. Bills."

Sharing a quick look with his employee, Ray was going to whisper a warning to Madeline, but he realized she had no intention of screaming for help. She looked more like she was about to faint. They stood like three statues in the kitchen, able to hear the distant rummaging about as it went on down the hall in the doctor's office. Things got quiet, presumably because the doctor had found what he was looking for and then his steps became louder as he reentered the hall.

". . . Madeline? Are you there?"

Ray kept Madeline in his grip and nodded at Ned who slid over to stand on the left side of the doorway. Footsteps came down towards the kitchen. Three sets of eyes stared at the doorway. Then the inevitable happened and the doctor appeared.

Ray couldn't remember ever seeing a person look so stunned and to be fair, the three of them standing there like that must have made quite a sight. On the doctor's face was surprise, disbelief, shock—showing in that order. He held a brown vial in his hand which fell down as his arm did.

". . . What . . . in the world is going on here?!"

As the doctor's eyes landed on him, Ray saw them flash with recognition. A handshake, in the middle of the night, on the front porch.

"You . . ."

His gun drawn, Ned began approaching the older man.

"No, please!" Madeline cried and frantically curled her fingers into the fabric of Ray's suit jacket. "Ray, please don't hurt him, I'll do as you say!"

Staring down at his wife, Ray held up a hand to make Ned stop. If he had her uncle killed it would probably take her a long time to forgive him, she would be most distressed. Besides that, it was simply impractical at this moment because the sound of a gunshot would not aid their escape.

"Ned," he said, his eyes still on Madeline, "find something to tie the good doctor up with."

Before anything else could happen, the doctor in question suddenly strode past Ned and his raised gun and headed for Ray.

"You are even more despicable in person than I imagined you to be—"

"No, Uncle Paul don't—"

"GET AWAY from my niece and get OUT of my house RIGHT NOW!"

The last two words ended with a roar and left the doctor fury-red as he glared at Ray with sheer hatred that had developed over time. And Ray knew then that Madeline had lied when she'd said that she hadn't told her uncle about her marriage to him.

Everything erupted as Ned swung himself at the doctor who attempted to fight back, and Ray looked on with gritted teeth, struggling to restrain Madeline as she screamed for her uncle. Kitchen chairs knocked over and the vial of medicine fell to the floor where it smashed, spilling out thick, chocolate-brown liquid. The commotion ended after just a few seconds when a violent push from Ned sent his older opponent flying towards the wall. The doctor hit the edge of a shelf head-on with a sickening noise and dropped to the floor.

"UNCLE PAUL! NO, no oh, no Uncle Paul!"

Madeline stopped trying to get free and Ray held her up as she covered her mouth with her hand.

"Check him," Ray ordered, and Ned strolled over to where the older man lay. He nudged the lifeless body with a boot-tip and there was no reaction. They all saw the spots of red covering the floor where the doctor's head rested, face-down.

Madeline heaved a few heartbroken sobs and Ray let her while he addressed his employee. "Get his keys and take her bag. Let's find the others and get out of this abysmal place."

His wife didn't resist as he led her out of the house and Ned locked the front door with the doctor's house key. Side by side, the three started down the boardwalk towards the livery stable, and Ray held Madeline to his body, telling her repeatedly to stop crying. She kept whispering the same words over and over again.

"Uncle Paul, I'm so sorry . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

xXXx


	31. Chapter 31

_Author's Notes_

 _Hiya everybody! :)_

 _I'm so happy you liked the last chapter and the reunion between Adam and Madeline! I have to say, that scene has a special place in my heart and although it took a long time to write, I'm glad you guys enjoyed it. I'm sorry for leaving you all hanging for another week (hopefully, you haven't fallen off your seats and injured yourselves and I pray that all of your fingernails are intact)_ — _I apologize for the nail-biting wait, but this is it now. I hope this lives up to all of your expectations._

 _Thank you guests and members for your continued support and lovely, kind words about my writing, I am very grateful to you. It means the world to me and it keeps me going._

 _Warning_ — _there is explicit violence in this chapter . . . (Cue dramatic music.) _

_Right, go Adam, she needs you!_

* * *

 **Chapter 31**

 _ **1:15 p.m.**_

Adam hurried up the street, his heart urging him to run, his mind ordering him not to. When he'd climbed the fence and landed in the alleyway behind Paul's house, there had been no hesitancy—he'd raced up the narrow passage, all the way to the end of it without stopping. He hadn't run like that since the war. But now he was out in the open on C Street and anything more than a hurried walk was too big a risk. Even though it was a lot emptier than usual thanks to the rodeo, there were still eyes everywhere. And he couldn't take the chance that the wrong people would see him running in the direction of the sheriff's office.

His senses were enhanced—heightened by the adrenaline rushing through his body. He heard every little sound in the vicinity; a child skipping along the wooden floor somewhere behind him, the ring of a bell signaling that someone was leaving the general store opposite the road. His eyes darted around and ahead of him—checking people, alleys and windows. Right now, he had to consider Virginia City as enemy territory and his mind was buzzing with intense awareness and perceptiveness. Being in a state of such high alert would have most people teetering on the brink of panic, but that wasn't the case with Adam. Panic wasn't available on his emotional register at the moment. He was drawing on his past, his training and his experience as a military captain whose most crucial task it had been to stay collected in the face of threat and danger. Physically, his stamina seemed to have doubled and every muscle was hard—wound like steel springs under his skin. There was a continuous thumping in his left arm and a wetness seeping through the bandage there, but he'd deliberately blocked those sensations out.

He stepped down from the boardwalk to avoid a cluster of chattering ladies and crossed the road, intent on the street-corner up ahead.

While he was focused on getting to the sheriff, Adam was simultaneously working through everything Madeline had told him. Images, memories from the past one and a half weeks were shooting through his consciousness, like a puzzle coming together in his mind. Everything made sense now. The uneasy feeling he'd had that day Paul left, Madeline's strange behavior on the porch when he'd confronted her about her letter—the way his instincts had been telling him that something was wrong. But he'd thought that _he_ was the problem, and he'd been too busy wallowing in self-loathing—and then grief—to put things together.

Ray Bradshaw.

He'd spoken with the man, he'd stood right next to him. His thoughts kept going back to that encounter in the saloon. That eerie chill he'd felt, and the bizarre way Barns had smiled and stared, like something was wrong with the guy. Every word Chris Barns had said—Ray Bradshaw had said.

Adam was biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood when he rounded the street corner and there it was—The International House.

At that instant, he wanted to take the law into his own hands. He wanted to go straight in there and make that animal suffer. Like Madeline had suffered, like Joe had suffered. God, he wanted to do that . . . the urge was so strong, boiling within him, pumping though his veins.

But again, he fell back to his training.

 _Control_.

 _Stay in control_ — _you're nothing without it_. _You're dead without it_. _Don't let your emotions overrule your thinking_.

Those sentences he'd drilled into his men for four years, he was now repeating to himself as he continued towards Roy's office.

He needed to get Madeline away first, out to the Ponderosa where he knew she would be protected. As soon as she was safe, he would go after Ray Bradshaw. And he had absolutely no intention of staying in control when he found the man who'd hurt her.

It was nearing ten minutes since he'd left Paul's house, and now he could see the sheriff's office up ahead. He would need to be very quick in explaining the situation to Roy, so he could get back to Madeline within the twenty minutes he'd told her to wait for him.

Suddenly, his boots skidded along the boardwalk until he reached a paralyzed standstill. His heart seemed to plummet to the floor as he stared at the person standing across the street. His father.

 _No . . . no, no, no . . ._

His pa saw him too and Adam ran across the street—cutting off a mounted cowboy who had to pull hard on the reins to avoid trampling him. With shouted profanities going off like fireworks behind him, Adam jumped up on the boardwalk.

"What are you doing here . . ."

His father looked bewildered. "That Mr. Barns didn't show up and I—"

Adam was already moving, walking backwards down the street he'd come from. "Pa, it's Madeline—she's in trouble. Barns is her husband, he has men with him and they're gonna try to take her—they beat up Joe too. Get Roy and anyone else you can and meet me at Paul's!"

Without waiting for his father to react, Adam swung around and sprinted back down the street as if the devil himself were on his tail.

xXXx

He slowed down when he neared Paul's house and he kept close to the buildings on the left side of the street—approaching the place where he knew the look-out was positioned. His dread grew tenfold when he saw that the man who'd been keeping watch over Madeline was gone.

Now sure that something was terribly wrong, Adam ran straight for the house. He bounded up the porch stairs and with one, powerful kick, he knocked the front door in while drawing his gun. The house was deathly quiet, and he held the gun ready out ahead of himself as he made his way down the hall. He threw looks first into the doctor's office on the left, then into the sitting room on the right. But everything seemed normal and tidy as always.

When he got to the kitchen doorway, his gaze immediately went to Paul lying on his front on the floor over between the wall and kitchen table. Despite his fear for his friend, Adam forced himself to survey the rest of the kitchen properly to check for any threats. That's when he saw the window shards lying on the floor by the back door. He holstered his gun and dashed over to kneel by the doctor.

"Paul . . .?"

He turned the older man over, his pulse hammering at a furious pace when he saw the bloody gash in the middle of the doc's forehead. "Paul? Come on, Paul . . ."

Paul groaned when he shook him, and Adam's head lowered as he released the breath he'd been holding. He heard someone running down the hall, but he didn't bother turning around because he would know those steps anywhere.

"My God, Paul!" Ben exclaimed as he rushed into the kitchen and knelt down beside Adam.

They got the doctor sitting up and leaned him back against the wall. Adam put a hand on his shoulder and spoke in a voice clipped with urgency.

"Paul, where's Madeline?"

Paul's eyelids sprang open. "Lord, no! He took her!" He directed a panicked stare at Adam. "Adam, you have to help her—it's her husband, he took her!"

"Where?! Where did they go?!"

"I, I don't know I, oh, God . . . they're . . . I think they're leaving town!"

Adam faced his father, and their voices blended together to one as they said the same three words at the exact same time.

"The livery stable . . ."

Letting go of Paul's shoulder, Adam bolted up and disappeared out of the room, his boots thundering down the hallway.

The doctor groaned again, grabbing the side of his head as blood leaked down from the wound above his brows.

"Easy, Paul, take it easy now," Ben said and got up. He stepped around the broken medicine vial on the floor and went to get something that would stop the bleeding.

"Ben . . . you need to go with him, I heard something about . . ." Paul squeezed his eyes shut. "More of them . . . he'll need help."

Ben came back with a dish cloth and knelt beside him again.

"Roy will be here in a minute, I sent someone to get him," he said and lightly pushed the cloth against the wound.

"Can't . . . no, we can't wait! . . . Adam needs help _now_."

Ben glanced uncertainly at the doorway, torn between his injured friend and his son running into danger alone. Before he'd followed Adam to Paul's house, he had stopped a couple of cowboys strolling along the street and he'd asked them to get the sheriff and send him to doctor Martin's. But the truth was, that Ben had no way of knowing when Roy would show up. When he hesitated for too long, the doctor threw his hands up in the air.

"I'll be fine—will you just go and help him for God's sake?!"

The bark was angry and just as desperate, and it was enough to get the Cartwright standing.

"Stay here," Ben said, handing the cloth over, "Roy will be here soon."

"Just go Ben!"

He hastened out of the kitchen, already cursing himself for letting Adam run off alone. He'd just made it to the front porch when he halted, hardly able to believe his luck. Hoss and Joe were coming down the street, moving at a half-run and beside them was Sheriff Roy Coffee. They reached the bottom of the porch stairs as Ben descended.

"What's goin' on Ben?" Roy panted more than asked. "Some fellas told me you wanted—"

"Roy, I haven't got time to explain everything," Ben broke in, "Madeline has been kidnapped by some men, they're armed and about to leave town!" He turned to his sons. "Adam went after them alone—to the livery stable!"

Hoss and Joe displayed twin shocked expressions, then they shot off down the street, kicking up dirt as they went. Despite Joe's condition, he was quickly a good few feet ahead of his brother. With a hand placed firmly at the top of his hat, Roy ran after them—weaving grumbled curses in between his huffing and puffing. The three made quite a few heads turn as they raced through town and the lawman was seriously falling behind when a group of four cowboys loped up next to him.

"What's the trouble, Sheriff?"

"A woman's been kidnapped . . . the Cartwright boys need all the help they kin get!"

The men nodded at each other. "We're with ya, Sheriff."

They picked up the pace to catch up to Hoss and Joe in the distance and Roy followed, scarlet-faced, wishing he was twenty years younger just then.

xXXx

At the livery stable, Ray's men were all gathered—busy saddling horses and preparing to depart. Fortunately for them, the street just outside the stables had been empty and except for one old stable keeper, no one had given them any problems so far. Even inside the building, they could hear the animated cheers and applause from the crowd down by the rodeo. With most of the town's citizens down there, they would have a good chance of getting out of Virginia City unnoticed.

The livery stable was located next to the blacksmith and had only one wide entrance which faced out towards the street. A center aisle ran down the middle of the building to the back wall and it had rows of horse stalls along either side of it. Just inside the huge stable doors was some open floor space which allowed for easy maneuvering of buggies and horses. Off to the side stood a table and chair where the stable keeper usually sat, and where currently, a full coffee cup steamed away on the table-top. To the right side of the doors were a few bales of hay stacked next to each other and along the wall to the left was a line of parked buggies.

Ray's men had helped themselves to the bridles hanging on the faded plank walls and they'd found saddles at the back of the building. They'd just picked out whichever horses they wanted, but most of the animals hadn't taken kindly to being handled by strangers and they were putting up a fuss. Their movements were agitated as they tossed their heads and made the job of saddling them as difficult as possible. One man was having a particularly hard time with a big chestnut mustang. A fine horse for sure, strong and eye-catching, but the critter had turned out to be sharp-witted and mean-spirited too because he'd managed to land a hard kick to his would-be capturer's rump and he still refused to leave his stall.

The ruckus that the horses were making was starting to become a problem and Frank had just told the men to get things moving when Ray came striding in through the open stable doors with Madeline and Ned.

"Get one of the buckboards ready and hurry it up!"

"Yes, sir."

Two men went to do as their boss had said and hurried over to one of the buggies. Ray took stock of his employees and was glad to see that everyone was accounted for. Six of them had been with him since Georgia where they'd worked at his iron works and sometimes, when he was feeling especially paranoid, he had used them to keep track of Madeline although she'd never known about it. Since coming to the West, he'd hired on another guy; a man with the boldest red hair-color Ray had ever seen and who called himself something as imaginative as Red.

Seven men. Ray felt good about that. If someone came after them, they would have a high chance of fighting them off.

"How long before we can leave?" he asked when Frank came over to him.

"We'll be ready to go in a couple of minutes, sir."

"Good." He addressed Ned. "You'll drive the buckboard. We'll be in the back."

Ned gave a confirming nod and Ray's attention was drawn to his wife when he felt her shudder next to him.

"We'll leave very soon, darling. Then everything will be all right again."

Madeline didn't say anything. She was incapable of standing on her own now and Ray had an arm looped around her to keep her upright. During their walk to the livery, she had almost collapsed three times which had slowed them down some, though it hadn't been her intention. Her cheeks were sticky from all her tears and the flower-clip in her hair wasn't doing its job anymore because messy strands were all over the place, framing her chalk-white face. She watched the men moving around—the whole building seemed to be moving around—and it felt like she was watching herself too, from outside her body. Trapped among strangers and the person she hated with every fiber of her being. Something was very wrong with her, she thought. There was a lack of emotion, lack of reaction. She must have crossed a whole new threshold of misery.

Her brows compressed in anguish when she saw two of Ray's men dragging the unmoving body of an elderly man into one of the empty stalls. The friendly stable keeper had been a regular breakfast-customer at the restaurant and she'd spoken with him many times. She knew that the sight of old Luke being dragged along the hay-covered ground would haunt her—like the image of her uncle lying on the kitchen floor was torturing her broken heart. It was unbearable.

"We've got the horses hitched up now Mr. Bradshaw," Frank called over to Ray. "We're ready."

"All right, Frank." Ray guided Madeline over to the buckboard. "It's time to go now, dear."

Ned placed her carpet bag under the seat of the buggy, and for the fourth time in a short while, Madeline almost crumbled to the ground, but Ray prevented that from happening. The men were getting ready to mount the skittish horses and Ray was bending to lift Madeline up into the back of the buckboard when a voice filled with command stopped all movement in the room with two words.

"Hold it!"

Everyone turned towards the wide stable doors where Adam came walking in with his gun drawn, a dark figure of cool intimidation, his face inscrutable. He stopped in the middle of the open floor, planted his feet in a wide stance and slid a slow, menacing gaze over each and every one of the men before finally settling on Ray.

"Let her go, Bradshaw."

Madeline's vision was clouding. She felt like she was going to be sick. Ray's mouth hung open as if it was no longer properly attached and the men, some of whom had feet in stirrups, stared at the Cartwright in astounded surprise.

". . . You just don't give up do you?" Ray gritted out.

"It's over. Let her go."

While Adam's sharp eyes were mainly focused on Ray, they flickered around to touch each of the men, working to calculate which of them would be the first to try for a draw. Over to the right—the redheaded guy with the itchy-looking fingers was a definite candidate . . .

With Madeline pressed to his side, Ray abandoned the buggy and approached Adam, moving like a predator about to pounce on its prey.

"Your perseverance is as irritating as it is admirable." He positioned himself about twenty feet in front of the Cartwright and without comment, his men formed a half circle around him, all of them facing Adam. "I admit that part of me wishes we would have met under different circumstances. I believe we could have had some interesting discussions."

"I don't share that sentiment," Adam said in a tone of brazen disinterest. "Get your hands off her."

A wince pinched Madeline's pale features when Ray's fingers burrowed into her hip. He produced a smile that gave the impression that it was the only thing keeping his face together.

"You must be very eager indeed to meet your demise. If you think I'm taking orders from a damn Yankee captain, you're sorely mistaken. Drop your gun."

Adam didn't lower his gun even a fraction. Instead, he took a step closer toward the group, looking the very picture of authority and he possessed such an "in-charge" presence that it actually sent a round of uneasy sideways-glances bouncing around between some of the men.

"There's no way I'm letting you take her."

His eyelids now full-on spasming, Ray glared at him. "Look around yourself, man! You're outnumbered! One word from me and you get blasted full of bullet holes. You're dead as soon as I say so!"

"Shoot me and we all are. Over half the town are just down the street—gunfire would have this place crawling in a minute." Adam paused to let the full effect of his steely intensity come through. "You'll never get away."

A disturbing chuckle rumbled up through Ray's throat, making his mustache shake. "And what on earth gave you the idea that I care more about getting away than I do about killing you?"

It was the sentence that set everything off. Whether Ray had meant it as a signal to act or not, the redheaded man took the words as a cue and went for a quick-draw.

Adam caught the movement at the edge of his sight and the man had only gotten his gun halfway out of the holster when a shot rang out and his hand was transformed into a blood-splattered disarray. Before the redheaded guy could even register what had happened and howl out his agony—Adam was spinning left again, sensing that someone else was drawing down on him. He got another hip-shot off at a man about to take aim, but then, a solid weight smacked into his side, knocking him over.

Madeline screamed, and Adam hit the ground hard, landing on his back.

The smoking gun flew from his hand, skittered several feet away to where his hat also landed. The back of his head slammed down into the ground—bounced up again—only to meet a brutal punch that rattled his jaw.

Cursing loudly, Ray hoisted Madeline up when her legs gave out. Her eyes were dark circles of pure fear as she watched Ned straddle Adam's stomach—raining more hits down over his face and chest.

The rest of the men were trying to calm the panicked horses as the animals reared and whinnied, and the chaotic scene was shrouded in the smoke from the two gunshots. Somehow, Adam managed to get an arm up to block a right hook from Ned which would have broken his nose, no doubt. With a burst of strength, he pushed himself up and smashed a fist into Ned's cheek, propelling him backwards. Muffled grunts came from both men as they wrestled with each other and straws of hay clung to their backs.

At another time, they probably would have been pretty evenly matched; they were about the same in size and height and clearly, both knew their way around a fistfight. But as Madeline knew, and as the onlookers could see—today, Adam was at a disadvantage. The bandage around his left arm was already far more red than white and the strain of the last couple of weeks had taken its toll on him physically. He was receiving more jabs than he was giving out. Even so, Ned was having trouble gaining the upper-hand and each time he seemed to get in control, Adam turned things around.

Ray's cheeks and ears had gone a never-seen-before shade of purple-red, and his upper-lip was curled in disgust as he eyed the two men rolling over on the ground.

"Ned, just kill him!"

"No!" Madeline cried.

Ned was vehemently trying to follow his boss' instructions but out of nowhere, Adam landed a vicious strike right to his mouth. The force of the impact hurled him into immediate senselessness and he flopped onto his back—arms and legs splayed out wide.

Ray slapped a palm flat across his face and moaned, "Oh, for pity's sake . . ."

Adam wiped blood from his bottom lip and chin with the back of his hand. Then, he turned his head in Ray's direction. Ray Bradshaw wasn't a man who scared easily, but the look the dark Cartwright gave him at that moment, made the hairs by his nape stand up. Eyes trained on Ray, Adam was struggling to get from his knees to his feet when a giant of a man appeared just in front of him—raised gun level with his face.

"STOP, Frank you idiot!" Ray bellowed. "No more gunfire!"

In direct defiance of his words, a gunshot resonated through the building almost simultaneously with a metallic clink and Frank's gun whirled out of his hand and clanked to the ground.

Adam whipped his upper-body around and saw his brothers standing at the stable doors with a group of men.

"Everybody drop your guns!" Joe yelled.

Time seemed to slow. Fractions of each second seemed to drag out to separate eternities. Glances were thrown. Fingers twitched. Everyone waited.

And finally, Joe's demand was answered by a spray of bullets.

All-fired pandemonium broke out in the livery stable; Joe and Hoss dove for cover behind one of the bales of hay to their right and the cowboys with them threw themselves down behind some water barrels to the left. The horses scattered—ran towards the back of the building and Ray's men took cover wherever they could. One man ran straight into the nearest horse stall which turned out to be a mistake because that stall was occupied by a certain chestnut mustang. As a result, the man swiftly exited the stall, horizontally—without touching the ground.

The blasting gunfire deafened the men's shouts and bullets whizzed through the air in every direction, struck the walls and stable doors, sending splinters of wood flying about.

On the open floor in the middle of it all, was Adam. Staying low as guns went off all around him, he moved towards Ray who was now having trouble controlling Madeline as she fought to escape him. Adam made it halfway to them when a bash to his shoulder blades caused him to fall forwards. Quickly rolling over on his back, he saw that Ned had returned for a second round, the man's sneer missing a couple of teeth.

Over by the hay-bale, Joe was engaged in a gun fight with a man crouching behind one of the buckboards. He was worried and annoyed that Adam hadn't gotten out of the line of fire yet, but at least it looked like his older brother was winning the scuffle he was currently in. After emptying another round of bullets, still without hitting his target, Joe signaled over to the cowboys behind the water barrels and ducked back down to reload his revolver. He spoke above the gunfire to Hoss.

"There's a guy over behind the buggy on the left . . ."

"Yea I saw 'im, but I got one shootin' at me from somewhere to the right," Hoss said, his forehead lined with tension as he also reloaded. "Dang it, I told Adam to stay outta trouble dadbur—"

He was cut off when a bullet tore into the hay-bale just above his head and bits of hay poured down on him. "Dadburnit . . ."

Gun reloaded, Joe popped up again and aimed in the same direction, but before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot blasted, and a loud yelp came from somewhere behind the buckboard.

First, Joe thought that one of the cowboys by the water barrels had gotten the guy, but when he peered over at them, they just shrugged back at him, perplexed. All was explained though when they heard Roy's shout from the stable doors behind them, ordering everyone to throw down their weapons in the name of the law. Ray's men immediately turned their guns on the sheriff who made a speedy retreat back behind the doors while returning the fire. Although Roy's attempt at ending the shootout hadn't worked, Joe was glad to have him covering their backs. Now he could concentrate on making sure no one took a shot at his unarmed brother still out in the open.

It had taken Adam under half a minute to knock Ned out again and after ensuring that the man was more soundly defeated this time, he went after Ray and Madeline. In the midst of the melee, Ray had gotten hold of a gun lying on the ground—Adam's gun—and he was pulling Madeline with him down the center aisle.

"Let go of me!" she exclaimed. "Ray stop!"

"Shut up Madeline!"

She broke lose enough to twist around and away from her husband and she saw Adam coming.

Adam's rather improvised plan at that second was to simply jump at Ray, but he didn't get the chance to. He felt just as surprised as both Madeline and Ray looked when two arms the size of boulders wrapped around him from behind and folded across his chest—effectively locking his own arms to his sides. His boots lost contact with the ground as he was lifted up into the air and instantly, the arms started to squash him. Adam kicked wildly, trying to strike his assailant's knees and the merciless pressure around his upper-body multiplied.

Still crouching behind the hay-bale, Hoss and Joe had both just realized their brother's predicament **.** His eyes flaming, Joe haphazardly leaped up and was halfway over the bundle of hay when a hand gripped his shirt collar and tugged him back down. Hoss held him at arms-length as Joe wiggled as efficiently as an angry kitten to get free.

"HOSS! What are you—Adam needs help!"

"Dadgummit I know! But that fella would turn ya to shreds, Joe! Stay here, dang it—and cover me!"

Adam was starting to feel strange. His legs wouldn't kick anymore, and Madeline's petrified voice grew distant until all he could hear were those repulsive, crunching sounds coming from his own chest. His head was lolling, so heavy all of a sudden, and there was something wet, a warm liquid trickling down the side of his face. Just as everything was getting dark, he heard a grunt and the arms holding him jerked and released him. Promptly, he dropped to his knees. He was out of breath and gasping for air, his head still swirling, but he could vaguely make out the polished shoe-tips on the ground before him.

Ray stepped closer, Madeline still caught in his iron-grip. He loomed over Adam, regarding him as if he were an irritating bug repeatedly escaping the sole of his shoe.

"I should have done this the first time I saw you . . ."

Madeline's worried expression morphed into one of horror when Ray pointed his gun straight at Adam.

"NO!"

Assembling all the strength she had, she ripped her arm free of Ray's grasp and pushed his hand up. The shot fired up into the hayloft above, the gun so close to her head that her left ear was ringing.

"Damned whore!" Ray slapped an open palm across her cheek, sending her to the ground with a shriek.

When he turned back to Adam, he didn't get to raise the gun again. With a deep, near ferocious growl, the Cartwright charged at him, tackling him to the ground.

Madeline sat up in a pool of ruffled lilac, holding the sting on her cheek as she stared at Adam and Ray fighting. She soon realized that it wasn't much of a fight. Because Adam did not hold back. He tore the gun from Ray's hand—tossed it aside—and pinned him to the ground as he started throwing punch after punch. His left hand was curled around Ray's silk-tie and after every strike he delivered, he yanked on the cloth to snap Ray's head back up, so he could hit him again. Snarling hatefully, Ray tried to protect his face, and scratched at Adam's front as blood ran down from his nose, tinging his mustache. His teeth glinted in a red sneer when he got a hold of his adversary's bandaged arm, and with savage brutality—he dug his fingers in as hard as he could. Adam roared in pain and Ray took advantage, swung a fist into his ribs and shoved him away.

Numbed by fright, Madeline saw her husband roll his head wildly from side to side until he spotted the gun lying just a stone's throw away. He scrambled towards it, on his hands and knees, and touched the grip of the revolver the second Adam grabbed it too. They shifted to face one another, battered and bloodied both, panting hard. From where Madeline sat, she could see the gun barrel shaking in between them, directed skyward as they each struggled to point it toward the other.

Their gazes locked. Fiery hazel to icy blue. A clash of wills. Two men so opposite, glaring at each other in mutual loathing—two minds sick with a shared hatred. Bound to the same woman. And they both knew that one of them was about to die. There was no shouting or gunfire around them anymore, but neither was aware of it. They tried it at the same time—used their last bit of energy to thrust the gun against the other's chest.

A single, echoing gun-shot cracked the silence and Madeline's hand clasped the base of her throat. Ray's eyes twitched. They didn't widen in shock, there was no surprise in them and they didn't water. They did none of the things a shot person's eyes should. They just twitched. Within a couple of seconds, his body started to sink, but he grasped Adam's shoulders to keep himself up. As if he was refusing to accept the outcome, as if being stubborn would change the fact that he was now a dead man. Adam did nothing except maintain a stony countenance.

"She's . . . mine . . ." Ray hissed out. He glanced down at the red blooming over his white shirt. Like a wine spill. He swallowed and made a weak attempt at curving his body sideways, but Adam held him in place. He would be the last thing Ray Bradshaw saw in this world. Not Madeline.

"She's . . ." Ray swallowed again, still facing Adam. ". . . Madeli . . ."

He slumped forwards, and his voice died away as he finally met a gurgling death.

Adam released him, and Ray fell to the ground.

Shaking uncontrollably, Madeline's green irises were jeweled with tears as she forced herself to look away from her husband, and at Adam instead. He stood up, breathing heavily.

The tears breached the rims of her lower eyelids and streamed down her cheeks as he staggered over and dropped down in front of her. She placed both trembling hands on either side of his bruised face.

"It's over," he said.

She choked on a sob and put her arms around his neck, rested her chin on his shoulder.

"It's over now, Madeline."

He stroked her back and let his eyes fall closed. But only for a moment. Still holding her, he aimed a look straight ahead to where all the others stood near the stable doors and he called to his brothers.

"You two all right?"

"Yea, Adam," Joe replied, holding a gun pointed at Ray's men as the cowboys and Roy tied their hands.

Hoss looked a little worse for wear and wiped a sleeve over his face to mop up the blood and sweat. "Don't ya worry none, Adam," he said, standing over the giant-man who lay unconscious at his feet. "We got everythin' under control here."

Adam exhaled in relief. The older brother in him had been panicking when his siblings had shown up and the fray started. But Madeline had needed him more, and he'd trusted and hoped that they could take care of themselves and each other. They'd done that and more, he realized. They had looked out for him too.

He sensed Madeline begin to shift, but before he looked down at her, he caught a glimpse of his father and Paul standing to the left of the stable doors, watching them.

Madeline drew back, her palms resting on his chest as she peered up at him through lashes that were wet and clogged together.

"Adam . . ." she sniffled, her voice vulnerable and squeaky. "Uncle Paul . . .?"

He watched her calmly for a second, then inclined his head forwards, indicating the stable doors behind her. She turned in his arms and when she saw Paul, her hand went up to cover her lips as a tiny whimper broke free.

Adam helped her to stand up and wound his arm around her waist to hold her securely against him. As they wobbled down the center passageway towards the others, he kept her on his left side, shielding her from the sight of her dead husband lying on the hay-scattered ground.

Paul and Ben watched them approach and when they got close enough, the doctor lowered the cloth from his forehead and stepped free of his friend's supporting hand under his arm.

"Uncle Paul . . .!" Madeline whispered from behind her hand.

Adam let go of her so Paul could take her.

"I'm all right, my little Belle," he mumbled against her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm just fine."

He hugged her to him, his hand gently cupping the back of her head as she cried into his vest. Then the doctor's eyes met Adam's in a long, profound eye-contact. The muscles in his throat contracted as he mouthed the words, _"Thank you."_

Adam nodded back at him. Nothing more needed to be said.

Concern etched deep into his face, Ben moved forwards and settled a hand on his eldest's shoulder.

"Are you all right, son?"

Adam felt his body react instinctively to the familiarity of the gesture, and his shoulders and back suddenly sagged. He hadn't even realized it until then, that his mind had still been in that intensified alert state. It was over—he'd just said it himself. Ray Bradshaw was dead. Madeline was safe, Joe and Hoss were all right and Paul was all right. And now his father was standing next to him asking if _he_ was all right and he was acutely aware of the way his heart was beating just a bit too fast to be okay. He couldn't comprehend it, but apparently his father did. Understanding poured out of the coffee gaze, and the hand on his shoulder gave a squeeze and started massaging the tension in his muscles away. He hadn't intended to, but Adam found himself leaning sideways, just slightly, towards the strong, steady presence beside him.

"Yea . . ." he finally said. "Yea, I'm all right, Pa."

"Madeline?"

Paul's worried tone made father and son turn to him. He looked at them in distress as Madeline started to slide down his front. "She's fainting . . ."

Adam was there at once.

"I've got her."

He eased her out of Paul's embrace and lifted her up into his arms, holding her under her knees and shoulders. Her eyes were closed, her head lying against his chest and Paul brushed the tangled tendrils of hair out of her face to get a proper look. One of her cheeks was the color of ivory while the other bore a hand-print of faded crimson. The sight rekindled the anger in Adam as he felt himself grow hot. He noticed that something dark and fierce swept over Paul's features and there was an abrupt shift in his father's demeanor too. None of them said anything out loud although they were thinking the same malevolent things about the man lying on the ground behind them.

They all had questions, Paul especially, and there was a lot to talk about and explain. But it would have to wait. Paul withdrew his hand from Madeline's face and spoke quietly, as if not to disturb her.

"The shock and exhaustion must have caught up with her, . . . let's . . . let's just get her home."

Ben's eyes were riveted on Madeline, the wrinkle between his eyebrows bulging. "Paul, I think it would be best if she came out to the Ponderosa and stayed with us for a while. And I think you should too." He glanced at the doctor, awaiting some kind of response, and it was a good thing he did because Paul suddenly swayed, and Ben caught his arm just in time. "In fact, I insist on it."

"Yes, we . . ." Paul raised the cloth to his forehead. "Thank you, Ben."

Keeping his hand on the doctor's arm, Ben turned to his firstborn, but he could tell that Adam was intent on Madeline now. He surveyed the rest of the building to see where Joe and Hoss were at.

There were a lot more people in the livery stable now—Deputy Andrew had arrived along with a bunch of other men who were eager to help in any way they could. Roy's voice was a constant boom going off every other second as he put everyone to work, gradually restoring order in the chaos. A few of the men were still trying to settle the spooked horses enough to unsaddle them and old Luke the stable keeper was sitting on a bale of hay, holding someone's shirt to the back of his head. Down by the aisle between the stalls, Ray's body had been moved to the side and covered with a wool blanket. Not one of Ray's men had come away from the shootout unscathed, but their injuries were mostly minor flesh wounds. They sat on the ground, all oddly subdued, watching the blanket covering their boss as though they were waiting for him to get up and give orders.

Ben's eyes finally caught on the two people he was searching for, and he waved at his younger sons.

"Boys, over here!"

Hoss and Joe waved back at him and exchanged a few words with Roy before heading over. They were having a bit of trouble maneuvering around all the men and horses, but when they saw Madeline hanging in Adam's arms they quickly battled through the commotion.

"What happened? Is she okay?" Hoss asked, his dirty forehead creasing.

Joe's eyes rounded with sudden fear. "She didn't get hit, did she?"

"No . . ." Adam murmured while his face stayed tipped down towards Madeline.

Ben recognized that Adam wasn't aware that his answer had been insufficient. When he noted that Paul was too out of it to elaborate, the father took charge.

"She's all right, she just passed out," he reassured Hoss and Joe. "But we need to get her and Paul out of here." _And your brother,_ he thought without saying it.

He studied his two youngest boys in an appraising manner. Joe didn't seem to have any new bruises on him, and though Hoss had obviously been in a scuffle, it didn't look too bad.

"We're fine, Pa," Joe said. "What do you need us to do?"

"We need to get the buggy ready, Madeline and Paul are coming with us back to the Ponderosa."

"Right."

The brothers were off in a flash and Ben was left with the challenge of dividing his worry between Adam, Madeline and Paul. He desperately wanted to do something about the blood covering his son's left temple and now that Adam had gone to his quiet place, Ben was finding it very hard to assess his state.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for Joe and Hoss to get the buckboard hitched up because some cowboys had gone to help them straight away. Holding onto the unsteady doctor, Ben touched Adam's shoulder.

"Bring her over to the buggy, Adam. We'll make it as comfortable for her as possible."

Ben helped Paul across the room to the buckboard and Adam followed, still gazing down at Madeline. He carried her like she was the most precious thing in the world, which to him, she was. He didn't look up once and he didn't need to because everyone moved out of the way, clearing a path for him. By the time they got to the buckboard, a bed of blankets had been laid out in the back of it, added to all the pillows Joe had used on the ride to town. Adam carefully lowered Madeline onto the soft layer and Paul perched on the edge of the buggy, tucking a blanket around her. Now that Adam wasn't holding her anymore, the mess that his left arm had become was exposed. A disapproving expression enveloped Paul's face when he saw the bandage saturated with blood.

"I . . . I need to look at that," he mumbled, starting to get up.

Adam halted him by placing a hand on his chest. "It can wait. Take a look at your own head first."

"I hardly think my niece would approve if she . . . if she woke up to find that I'd let you . . . bleed out because I had a scratch in the head."

The sentence was too long, and the doctor grimaced with the strain of saying all those words.

Ben stepped in. "There will be no bleeding out from anyone."

He nudged his son to get him to sit on the buggy next to Paul. Adam gave in but moved to sit sideways so he could still see Madeline. As Ben set about unwrapping the sticky bandage, he felt Adam stiffen and when he let the piece of cloth drop to the ground with a squish, he winced on behalf of them both. It was worse than he'd expected. Quite a lot actually. The stitches were all ripped up and it looked like the injury had only just happened.

Next to him, Hoss muttered a quiet curse and handed him a canteen while Joe had already gone off in search of something clean they could wrap around the wound.

With great care, Ben started rinsing the blood away, but Adam's fists still clenched until his knuckles, bruised as they were, turned white. Realizing the extent of the damage, Paul couldn't sit idly by anymore. His manner was no-nonsense when he moved Ben's hands out of the way to take over the doctoring just as Joe came back with some handkerchiefs and a clean shirt that somebody had offered up. Ben rose to a full stand and chewed his lip as he considered their situation, the tips of his eyebrows slanting down. What he most wanted to do, was to send Joe and Hoss on ahead with Paul and Madeline while he took Adam over to doctor Higgins. But with the fixed way Adam was regarding Madeline, Ben knew there was little chance of that happening.

A sudden snort came from nearby left and Ben waited for Adam to react to the noise which he didn't for several seconds. As expected, the snort came again, more insistent this time. Adam finally faced away from Madeline and looked directly at Sport standing beside the buckboard. The horse had simply moseyed out of his stall and walked through the bustle of people and horses to get to his master.

"Hey boy . . ." Adam frowned and brought his free hand up to the bridle that half-covered, half-dangled off Sport's head at an awkward angle. "They tried to take you, huh? I bet they regretted that. . ."

He was attempting to remove the headgear using only one hand when Sport lowered his chin to nuzzle his human's chest.

Paul grumbled when a massive horse head suddenly got in the way of his work.

"Sport, if you could please . . . would you . . ."

He craned his neck to see the injury he was trying to tend to.

"Here, I'll take care of 'im, Adam."

Hoss appeared at Sport's other side and smoothly got the bridle off. The horse tossed his head, glad to be free.

After Adam's arm had been wrapped in a makeshift bandage made from the shirt Joe had produced, Paul moved up to his face. The blood that coated his temple had already crusted over and Ben passed the doctor a wet handkerchief to clean it up with.

While Paul saw to Adam, Joe sat on the seat of the buggy where he could watch Madeline and see if she made even the slightest movement. The physical exertion of sprinting down the street and straight into a shoot-out had severely taxed his strength. He felt dog-tired now and sore everywhere. And on top of that, he was worried as well as confused and trying to piece together what had actually happened over the last half an hour.

About five minutes later, the Cartwrights were getting ready to ride out. Hoss had saddled Sport and Adam was still in the same spot by the buggy, hoping that Madeline would wake up. But she lay motionless, swallowed up in the blankets like she was in a deep sleep.

Ben had just gotten Paul settled in the buckboard next to her when Roy came over to them with a group of cowboys following.

"These fellas are gonna ride with ya, Ben," he said, gesturing to the men.

Ben glanced at them, then back at the sheriff.

"I appreciate it Roy, but we should be all right on our own. We're riding straight for the Ponderosa."

"I'd feel a whole lot better if they went along with ya. At least for some of the way to help you get out of town. The rodeo lost practically all of its audience, everyone's just outside, tryin' to get a look at what's happening."

Ben transferred his gaze to the open stable doors and realized Roy was right. There was a wall of people there, gaping into the building and pointing fingers. Many more than when he and Paul had arrived. He faced the cowboys again, relief creeping onto his visage.

"Thank you. All of you."

The men shifted awkwardly under the weight of his honest gratitude.

"Ain't no problem, Mr. Cartwright. Anything we can do to help."

"That's settled then," Roy said. "I'm gonna have a lot of work to do here, but I'll come out to the ranch sometime tomorrow, Ben. I wanna hear the whole story about what happened today."

"I do too, Roy." Ben sighed. "I do too."

Adam was still lingering by the buggy when the sheriff approached him and held out his gun and black Stetson.

"We found these, Adam."

"Thanks . . ."

Adam took the hat and holstered his gun. He turned his back to the buckboard and stood tall as he raised his eyes to the lawman's.

"It was me or him, Roy . . . we both went for the gun, I—"

"I know. I saw it all, son." Roy peered over at Madeline. "I'm just glad ya got to her in time. Who was this Chris Barns fella anyway, do you know?"

Adam's voice was monotone and cold. "He was her husband."

"Her husband?" Roy stared in disbelief. "She was married . . .?"

"It's . . . yea, it's sort of a long story. . ."

"I reckon it must be." Roy gave Adam's shoulder a pat. "You go on home now and we'll talk about it tomorrow when I stop by."

Adam's only response was a tired nod.

As the others got ready, the sheriff shared a quick word with Paul and held out a carpet bag he'd found which the doctor confirmed belonged to Madeline—just as Roy had suspected.

It was decided that Paul and Madeline would be in the back of the buckboard while Hoss drove, and Joe sat on the seat next to him. Adam insisted that he would be all right to ride home and Ben agreed, albeit reluctantly, to give his eldest the benefit of the doubt. Everyone there knew that Adam would be under some intense scrutiny during the ride to the Ponderosa. His father would be watching him like a hawk. An overprotective one at that.

Ben and Adam were mounted next to two of the cowboys riding with them. Their horses were ahead of the buggy and Roy stood on the ground in front of them.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Take care of yourselves."

"Thanks, Roy. We will," Ben said.

The sheriff went to the stable doors and shouted out at the crowd.

"All right folks, there ain't nothin' here for ya to see—so clear out!"

An offended muttering rippled through the mob and only a few people took notice of his words. Frustrated but not surprised, Roy waved back at Ben and Adam as he stepped to the side. The two cowboys rode out of the building first, forcing people to move back. Adam and Ben followed on their horses and enough space was cleared for the buggy. Hoss lifted and snapped the reins and the team of horses lurched forward, out of the livery stable. The muttering increased, and female gasps rose up all around when the battered Cartwright brothers and an injured Doctor Martin came out into the sunlight.

Adam stayed right beside the buggy, using himself as a barrier between Madeline and the curious bystanders. He upheld a strict posture to go with his impassive attitude as his name rolled around the crowd. Two more cowboys brought up the rear and blocked the back of the buckboard from people's view. Once they'd gotten halfway down C Street, there were virtually no people around and the ride from thereon was much more relaxed.

They made a brief stop at Paul's house, so the doctor could get a few things together—his black doctor's bag was among those items. He was not happy about leaving his house with the state it was in, but he didn't have much of a choice. It would undoubtedly be best for Madeline to recover in the peace and quiet of the Ponderosa and her well-being was all that mattered right now.

A few minutes later, the town was behind them. They had moved beyond the outskirts of Virginia City when Madeline began to stir. Adam had seen her legs move under the blanket and he moved Sport closer to the side of the buggy, but Paul was leaning over her, so he couldn't see her face. Her voice was so faint that he couldn't hear what she was saying—he only got Paul's replies.

"No, just calm down, everyone is all right, my Belle . . . we're going to the Ponderosa."

She said something else and Paul answered, "Yes, he's fine . . . yes, I promise you, Madeline. Look, he's right over there . . ."

The doctor leaned back so Adam could see her and Madeline could see him. Her lashes blinked sluggishly, and he smiled gently at her. She didn't smile back at him and he hadn't really expected her to because it was obvious how drowsy and fatigued she was. She nodded as if to herself and sank back down into the blankets next to Paul as her eyes fell closed again.

Adam's smile faded the second her eyes shut, and he kept watching her.

"She'll be all right."

He looked over at Paul who continued, "It's just the shock and exhaustion that has made her ill. She'll need plenty of rest, but she'll be all right."

The doctor adjusted the blanket around her and Adam stayed near as they continued down the road.

It was a bright, sunny afternoon, the first of September. Out on the open trail a breeze swept over the land around them, creating waves in the grass, and in the distance lay the borders of the Ponderosa, beckoning them home.


	32. Chapter 32

_Author's Notes_

 _Guys! I was absolutely thrilled by your reviews on the last chapter! Thank you so much everyone. I'm happy you enjoyed the fight scene, I was a bit nervous since I've never written one before._ _Of course he was going to save her! :) And it was only fitting that all the Cartwrights (and Sport) stepped in to assist._

 _All right, the point we're at now was always where I intended to go with this story, and we are near what I planned would be the end of it. But for some time, I've thought about continuing with this tale, (perhaps in a sequel) and I have many ideas for that. I started writing this purely for my own enjoyment, and now, **your** enjoyment is just as important to me, even more so, in a way. Your supportive and heartwarming reviews have brought me such happiness and I am starting to write outside of Fanfiction too. __As long as you, dear readers, have an interest in reading my portrayal of the characters in this slightly AU Bonanza version, I plan to continue writing. These characters have plenty more to tell._

 _Thank you for sticking with me._

 _Okay, on with the next chapter_ — _the recovery begins. I hope you all enjoy this._

* * *

 **Chapter 32**

When Madeline awoke, she had no recollection of where she was or how she had come to be there. She lay in a cocoon of warmth and softness, and that was all she knew of at first. Her sight gradually grew accustomed to the dim surroundings while her mind remained wrapped in that confused fog that very deep sleep left one stranded in. The features of the room started to emerge, and what she could see, she didn't recognize. Dark shapes, silhouettes of furniture, a window to her left that gave a peek of the star-speckled sky outside. One small oil lamp stood alone to lift the gloom of the room and fight away the shadows that hugged the walls. It turned out that her safe cocoon was actually a bed—feathery pillow under her head and covers draped over her.

She had been dreaming, she was sure of it. But as a memory-flood washed through her consciousness, she couldn't discern which images were out of her dream and which were real. She waited for the fog to clear from her senses and started to panic when it didn't. Was she still dreaming? The bed covers suddenly seemed suffocating rather than comforting and her legs kicked restlessly. Where was she? Why couldn't she wake up if she was still asleep?

All the questions froze and shattered like fine crystal in her mind when she rolled her head sideways on the pillow and saw him. He was there, nothing else mattered.

Adam was sitting in a chair beside the bed, his dark form blending in perfectly with the shadows around him. His legs were stretched out on the floor, crossed at the ankles and his right arm dangled over the armrest while the other rested across his stomach, wrapped in a white bandage. His hair was all ruffled, looking like his hands had raked through it a dozen times and his eyelids were fluttering, struggling to stay open.

If this was just a dream, it was the best she had ever had.

A smile crept over her lips when his head began to slump forwards, slowly and haltingly. The second his chin touched the top of his chest, he jolted in the chair and his head shot up again. He looked out at the room, then sighed out a breath and brought his right forearm up to rub across his eyes. She lay quietly until he moved his arm away and glanced over at her. He startled, something she didn't think she'd ever seen him do before, and the chair creaked.

"Madeline . . .?"

He quickly shifted and dragged the chair closer to the bed.

"How long have you been awake? Why didn't you say something?"

He looked so worried. So tired. The pallid tone to his skin accentuated the purple blooms by his temple, along his jaw, above his brow.

"I was afraid . . ." she whispered and couldn't continue.

He frowned and immediately abandoned the chair to sit on the side of the bed instead.

"Of what?" He took her hand. "Tell me."

"I was afraid . . . that I was dreaming . . ." She peered down at their hands. "That this . . .was just a dream."

"It's no dream, Madeline. You're safe now."

She hesitated, not quite ready to trust the words. Her voice was fragile as the first thin sheets of ice that covered lakes in winter time as she finally asked, "He is . . . gone?"

"Yes. He'll never hurt you again."

So, it hadn't been a dream. Ray was dead. She turned her face into the pillow, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions swelling in her chest.

She had hated that man. Everything about him; his appearance, his voice, his _touch,_ had stirred only the darkest emotions hidden within her—fear and hatred. Repulsion. But throughout the three years of their marriage, she had never once wished death upon him. It simply wasn't in her nature to wish that on any person or other living being. Now, as the reality of his death sank in, it was her compassion that rose to the surface of her emotional unrest. The sense of compassion she had been ruled by since she was just a little girl still flowed through her like a purifying force—the peace of her soul—so deep-seated within her as though it ran like a serene liquid blended in her blood. She could not thwart the feeling that crept in through the turmoil and tugged at her heart.

Pity. And even a trace of sorrow. Yes, sorrow—and yes—in spite of everything Ray had done to her. Because in his own way, disturbed and deranged as it had been, he had loved her. She had always known that.

"Are you all right, honey?"

The cautious question pulled her thoughts free of her husband's fate. She turned her head and gazed up at the man next to her. _Adam._ She heard his name in her head. As if her heart had whispered it to her mind. He was sitting right there, holding her hand. But it wasn't enough. She needed to be closer to him, _feel_ him. Without fully realizing what she was about to do, she very suddenly shifted to sit up—gasping in pain when all the aches on her body protested the movement. Adam also protested.

"No, you need to stay lying down, you're not—"

"But Adam, I need . . ."

When she kept wriggling on the bed, he caught her elbows to help her sit up and put his right arm around her. She leaned into him, instantly relieved, and laid the side of her head to his chest just beneath his chin. His shirt was soft, felt much better than the pillow against her cheek and she relaxed as his scent and warmth engulfed her. Oh, he was really here.

The bed covers fell down to her waist and it was then she noted that she had on a night gown. Had she put that on herself? There was a vague memory of that happening, but it stayed somewhere just outside of her mind's grasp, teasing her.

"We . . . we are at the Ponderosa, aren't we Adam? What time is it?"

She felt the vibration of his voice in his chest as he answered, "Yes. And it must be passed midnight now."

"Midnight? I slept all this time?"

"Yea. We were getting kinda worried . . ."

The fact that she'd slept for that long shocked her and she wondered if he'd been watching over her for all that time.

"How is everyone? Oh, I need to explain everything to them, to your family and my uncle, there is so much—"

"No, no, you don't need to worry about any of that right now. Try to take it easy, you're not well Madeline."

With his free hand, he rearranged the bed covers so they were more firmly tucked around her and she curled herself closer to him—basking in the feeling of safety his presence gave her. Missing him had been the greatest pain of all. She had missed him with every breath, with every beat of her heart. And now he was here with her. No dream. His body was muscular and strong as she remembered, but also slightly leaner now, she slowly realized. She hadn't noticed that when he'd held her in the kitchen at her uncle's house.

"How is Uncle Paul?" she asked into his shirt.

"He went to get some sleep a few hours ago. Aside from having a bad headache, he's his usual self. A little grumpier maybe."

She tipped her head up, feeling somewhat sluggish. "What about Joe? And Hoss? I don't remember . . ."

"They're doing fine, both asleep too. Hoss has been in worse fights and I think the kid is just relieved that some of my father's attention is off him."

It was time for her to pull back, she had to see his face now.

"And you? Are _you_ all right?"

"Yea . . . sure I am."

The way his eyes flickered down, told her otherwise. Then it hit her. Something was wrong. Although he was holding her, he wasn't embracing her. Not the way he'd gotten used to doing when they were alone, nor the way he'd done at her uncle's house after climbing over the fence to her. While they couldn't get much closer physically than they were now, there was a distance between them. He seemed . . . uncertain.

"I think you should lie down again," he murmured. "Paul said you need all the rest you can get . . ."

"No, please . . . I just want to sit like this for a few minutes."

"All right. Just for a few minutes then."

The following silence only served to enhance the invisible void separating them. What made matters worse was the heavy tangle of knots beginning to twist in her gut.

"Is there anything you would like that I can get you?" he asked. "Some water, tea, any food?"

"No thank you."

She reached for his left hand, eyeing the white bandage that stopped by his wrist. "How is your arm? Did Uncle Paul—"

"I told you, I'm fine, Madeline."

He drew his hand away, sounding irritated. But she knew to look past that. She had witnessed him do this before. This was Adam Cartwright protecting himself, shielding his emotions. Shielding himself from her. The fact that he felt the need to do that sent a heart wrenching ache barreling through her, directly to her soul.

Along came another of those pain-filled, endless silences, which seemed to push them even further apart. His right arm stayed around her, holding her, but there was a certain tension now, stemming from him, growing around them. The low light from the lamp only let her see part of his down-turned face. But it was enough. He was hurting.

"Adam . . .?"

"Yes . . ."

His tone was wary, as was the rest of him. He had that guarded look about him, reminding her of how he had been when she'd first met him. She saw it happen, so clearly, watched him build his defenses back up and with each piece that slipped back into place, it was as if he retraced one of the little steps he had taken in opening himself up to her. But despite the effort he was putting in, he couldn't hide himself completely—not from her, not anymore. It was too late for that.

With despair gripping her, she asked, "What is wrong? Please look at me . . .?"

He didn't.

She would have given anything to hear what he was thinking. To know what he had gone through during their time apart because she believed that whatever it was, it must be the reason why he was holding back now. That night when he'd showed up at her uncle's house after fighting at the saloon, she had seen his confusion and pain. From what her uncle and Joe had told her in the days after, his state had only worsened, and she knew about his _loss_. She wanted him to talk to her, but he wasn't even looking at her. Was he still in doubt about how she felt? Even after she'd explained everything and said that she loved him? Rejecting him had been her only means of protecting him—she had known of no other way. Had that choice doomed her to lose him after all?

No, she couldn't . . . she couldn't bear it.

 _Oh, my love, don't shut me out now. Not now._

"Look at me, Adam."

She edged closer to him, placing a hand on his chest. An advance he clearly hadn't expected her to make because his muscles jumped under her palm. That tiny movement changed something. She felt it at once and she knew he did too. The tension between them seemed to grow thicker, heavy with a strange, warm undercurrent. A warmth that suddenly flared up and became a scorching heat, burning her hand. Simply through touching him.

Very slowly, he straightened his back and raised his head. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked down at her and he was painstakingly deliberate about keeping them fixed below hers, skillfully avoiding her forest-green capture.

"I'm gonna get you some water . . ." he mumbled, his voice rough and husky, and a tantalizing pull arose somewhere deep in her belly.

He didn't move and inch.

"I don't want any water."

Her line of sight fell to his mouth and stayed there, making it clear to him, and herself, what she did want. Such boldness, such improper behavior for the respectable lady she was supposed to be. And she wasn't the least bit concerned about it. His Adam's apple bobbed up, then down as he swallowed.

"Madeline . . ."

He closed his eyes with a harsh intake of breath when she lifted her fingers to his jaw. She kept her touch soft, like a breeze grazing his skin as she caressed him. Gently, letting her love reach him through her fingertips since he refused to take it in from her gaze. She slid her hand along the stubble on his jawline up to the short, dark side-burn in front of his ear. Careful not to brush over the bruise by his temple. He neither leaned forwards to meet her, nor did he draw backwards to avoid her. But she sensed his chest go completely still as she angled her head upwards, bringing her mouth to his.

It was probably the lightest kiss ever given. She did little more than ghost over his lips with hers. And yet, his brows pinched tightly together as if she were causing him great pain. She pressed the side of her face against him, her velvety cheek against his scruff. Hot tears took her by surprise and she quickly squeezed her eyelids shut to contain them—felt the determined drops push through her lashes.

"I love you," she whispered.

He was at war with himself. She felt it raging within him, the confusion and the turmoil. As she blinked her lashes free, she saw it written into every tense line on his face. He looked half like he wanted to bolt from the room and half like . . . she couldn't identify what the other half was. Whatever was going on in his mind and heart, she needed to comfort him. She just hoped that he would let her. And if not, she hoped that she knew him well enough to reach him.

"My uncle told me about Henry . . ." she ventured.

That got a response. A stiffening of his spine.

"I am so sorry, Adam . . ."

"Don't, Madeline."

His tone was low. Hoarse and warning. But she went on, regardless.

"I can't imagine how hard it all must have been for you . . ." He turned away from her and she continued. "You must have felt terribly confused and hurt by the way I acted—"

"Stop, just . . . don't."

"I am so very sorry for everything you went through—"

"Don't say that!" he exclaimed, suddenly yanking his arm free from around her. "Don't say you're sorry, not after—" He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it into a new stage of disorder. "I should be apologizing to you."

She stared at him in bafflement. "I don't understand . . . apologize for what?"

In a heartbeat, he gripped her hand and pulled the sleeve of her nightgown up, stunning her.

"For this . . ." He gazed down at her bruises, his jaw clenching. Without giving her time to speak, he moved his hand up, delicately tracing her neck through the collar of her nightgown. "For this . . ."

The light of the lamp reflected like golden flecks in his smoldering orbs as he peered straight at her. "For everything _he_ did to you when _I_ should have been there to prevent it from happening."

She raised her hand to circle his wrist. "You cannot seriously be blaming yourself for any of this, you didn't know . . ."

"I should have found out what was going on sooner."

Her mouth fell open. "But . . . but you couldn't . . . there was no way you could—"

"There's always a way Madeline," he snapped, "I should've found a way."

"But you—"

"I should have stopped him!"

"You _did_ stop him!"

Her words were like a breathy explosion, shocking them both into momentary silence.

"You _did_. . ." she repeated, voice cracked. "And you came to get me just as you said you would . . ."

He shook his head, dropped his chin and she felt herself collapsing on the inside at the sight.

 _Why are you doing this to yourself?_

"There was nothing you could have done to help me before," she said, "I didn't give you a chance to . . ."

It wasn't working. She wasn't getting through to him. It almost numbed her vocal chords, the fear of saying the wrong thing, the word or sentence that would make him jump up and leave the room. The tense set of his jaw, the way his knees vibrated—told her how close he was to doing that.

"Listen to me," she pleaded, her fingers brushing the anguished creases across his forehead. "I was so frightened that something would happen to you . . . I only pushed you away because I couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt. It was the hardest thing I have ever done because I missed you so terribly and I . . ." She looked at him with her heart in her eyes, even though his face was turned down and he couldn't see it. "I love you so much. With all my heart."

His head jerked up as if something in him snapped and it would have taken more than a lifetime for her to grasp the depth of emotion his faced showed at that moment.

"I love you too . . . my God, I can't even . . . I don't even know how to be without you anymore, Madeline."

She hadn't heard his voice anywhere near such a state before. Strangled and helpless like that.

His eyes met hers, and as they locked together, she could almost hear the heart-stopping click go off in her mind. Their faces so close to touching—a tiny head tilt from him would manage it—they silently spoke their love in the simplest, most profound way.

And then finally, his mouth came down over hers.

It was as though a burst of aching relief and heat ignited inside her. She had yearned for this, for him, and she didn't hesitate to show it as she kissed him back. His mouth moved back and forth over hers, like a tide pulling her out with him and she went willingly. So willingly. Prepared to drown in him. With every sweep of his lips, he became more demanding and she was helpless in his hold, her whole body flushed and burning. Already short of breath, she parted her lips just a fraction and in the same instant, he plunged his tongue into her mouth.

The kiss was anything but gentle after that. It was a kiss driven by the culmination of being apart, of desperate longing for one another. Of the fear and agony they had both suffered under without the other. It was raw. It was pure. Everything he gave, she gave back. Through their joined lips, she urged him to give in to her, begged him to accept the same comfort that he bestowed on her so selflessly.

As if the emotion of it all wasn't enough, she was soon consumed by the physical aspect of what was happening between them. The feel of his stubble scratching her cheek and chin made her gasp as his arms encircled her. Powerful, safe arms. He had her. She grabbed tight handfuls of his shirt—unfamiliar, blazing _need_ driving her body to respond to him. In the most wonderful, alarming ways. He kept pushing her further and further into that dizzy haze and she reveled in the taste of him, the tiny noises he drew out of her. The slide of his tongue against hers as he licked his way around, exploring like this was their first kiss. All of a sudden, his hands were on her hips and before she knew it, he had pulled her up onto his lap. Another distance closed. Her soft curves melted into his solid frame and she was senseless. Senseless in it all. She could not formulate a word or thought because he had her lips, her mind, and he had everything. Her arms slid up around his shoulders where shaking fingers found their way to the hair by his nape—tangled the tiny black curls there. He released a low groan into her mouth and she shivered. That sound, she knew, would stay with her. For many days and nights after this. His arms tightened around her to the point where the bruises along her back made themselves known, but she didn't care. She pressed herself against him, and she should be shocked at herself, but she didn't care. Because she was so utterly lost in her love for him and the things he did to her. All the incredible things he was showing her, the reactions he brought out of her that were still so new. She _was_ drowning in him.

Just as her exhilaration was at its highest, he pulled away, breaking the kiss. He did so very abruptly, and she recognized that it was the only way a kiss so intense could be broken.

The gap of air between their faces filled with their hot, shallow breaths. She placed the palm of her hand to his chest, feeling the erratic thudding and he covered her hand with his own, leaning his brow against hers. They stayed just like that, both taking in what had just happened.

She was sitting in the exact same spot on his lap when a sudden dizzy spell overcame her, and she had to lean against him for support.

"Madeline? Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked, still out of breath as he bent down to see her face.

"Yes, I just, it. . ." She stumbled over her own voice, realizing then how completely exhausted she was. "I am just . . . so very tired . . ."

"Of course, you are," he mumbled in a berating tone that was obviously aimed at himself. "Here I am, telling you that you need to rest and then I go and . . . do that."

"It wasn't just you, Adam . . ."

She stretched her hand up, intending to stroke his cheek but he caught her wrist, holding her still by his chin. Worry tensed up her body, but then she melted as he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the soft pads.

They studied each other. Hard as it could be to read him at times, right now, she easily saw what he was thinking.

Adam sitting in a chair watching over her while she slept was one thing. But now they were both awake, on the same bed, her in his lap and the door to the room was closed. Nighttime to top it all off. It was a compromising and inappropriate situation, whatever way they looked at it.

"Let's get you lying down again," he said.

"Yes . . . all right."

He helped her slide off his lap and settled her against the pillows. She watched as he tugged the covers up around her, taking his time, making sure she was warm and protected. He stayed sitting on the side of the bed and she was glad of that. It made widening the physical distance between them more gradual and easier on both of them. A soft sigh left her when he smoothed the curls back from her face and brought his hand down to cup her cheek.

"I promised Paul that I would get him if you woke up. He just wanted to see you, talk to you a bit."

She leaned into his palm, wishing his touch could stay there forever.

"He must be exhausted . . . do you suppose he would be very upset with you if you let him sleep?"

"I'm not taking any chances. Even with that bump on his head, he'd probably win if he decided on a scuffle and I don't think I could outrun him at the moment." With a little smile, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone. "I'll come in again when he's seen you. I can sit here until you fall asleep if you like."

"I would like that, but you need to rest too . . ."

"I will."

He shifted restlessly, captured his bottom lip between his teeth as he regarded her with apprehension.

"Madeline, I . . . I want—"

All at once, he bounced on the bed, tore his hand away from her face and whipped his head left in the direction of the door as a rustling noise came from the other side of it. They stared in mutual surprise as the door creaked open and a lit oil lamp appeared, floating midair, illuminating the outline of her uncle in the dark doorway.

"Madeline?" He squinted into the room. "Why, you're awake!"

Wearing a huge smile, he strode towards the bed, the edge of his blue robe sweeping along behind his slippered feet. Her heart leaped with joy and relief at seeing him and she smiled weakly.

"Yes Uncle . . . I am so happy that you're all right . . ."

Noticing Adam's rigidity next to her, she glanced over at him and saw that he had gone even paler than he'd been just before. He stood from the bed while practically gaping at her uncle with an expression that translated to something like, _"Thank God you didn't walk in a couple of minutes ago."_

She felt herself blush.

When her uncle stopped by the bed, his tremendous happiness illuminated his face better than both lamps combined.

"It's so good to see you awake, my dear."

Adam cleared his throat. "I was just about to get you."

Her uncle's narrowed eyes sliced into him. "Yes. I'm sure you were." He turned away from Adam and back to her. "How are you, my little Belle?"

"I am all right." She frowned at the bandage around his forehead. "How is your head? Are you sure you should be up?"

"Oh, it's nothing really, I can hardly feel it now."

"I'm gonna . . ." Adam motioned to the doorway. ". . . leave you two to talk."

He turned rather hastily and her eyes followed him as he walked across the room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, she felt a little pang in her chest. They hadn't had enough time together. She hoped that he would come back and sit with her again as he'd said.

"How are you really, my Belle?"

She faced her uncle who had set down the lamp and taken a seat in the chair. Even though the bandage concealed them, she guessed there must be deep furrows of worry behind the cloth, taped across his brow.

"I was very worried about you. I don't think I've ever been so worried in all my life."

"I feel better now, Uncle. I was quite confused when I first woke up, but I'm just tired now. Please don't worry yourself anymore."

He leaned forwards to take her hand. "You must be very sore . . ."

For a moment she hesitated, found a spot on his robe to secure her gaze to before she replied. "I mostly feel tired . . ."

"I saw, Madeline. I helped you get changed into your nightgown."

She pressed her eyelids together for a second, fighting for composure.

"Yes, I am a little sore . . ."

He nodded. "Adam has filled me in on most things. The parts he knew anyway."

A hot, salty drop suddenly slipped down her cheek, landing as a grey dot on the white pillow. The pressure in her throat became so tight, it condensed her voice to a whisper.

"Uncle, please forgive me. I never wanted to deceive you or lie about—"

"Shhh, none of that now, dear," he said, enclosing her hand between both of his. "Whatever you think I need to forgive you for, I do. We don't need to talk about any of this now. I just want to sit with you for a while."

"I . . . I missed you, Uncle Paul."

Perhaps it was an odd thing to say, but that's how she felt. She'd spent so much time avoiding him and lying to him and she'd missed just being with him. She didn't need to pretend anymore, finally.

"I know, I missed you too. Everything will be all right now, Madeline. Don't you worry about a thing."

She knew he was right. The people she loved were safe, she was safe. Everything was going to be all right.

xXXx

Adam passed the dresser, continued across the floor and stopped by the oval mirror. He turned on his heel, repeated the same brisk strides back across the room until he met the wall. Then he spun around again.

He felt like he was going crazy. Like he was about to explode out of his skin. Thoughts were ricocheting around his head and he couldn't make sense of any of them. There were too many, all mixed together. The pulsing in his ears was only getting louder and that tingling thrill from kissing Madeline just wouldn't go away.

He cradled his bandaged arm to his side and had to veer left to avoid a collision with his bed.

She was in the guest-room down the hall—he couldn't even see her right now and still his mind was covered with her. His shirt was covered with her flowery fragrance, and he was pacing the length of his bedroom, spreading it everywhere.

Six hours. That's how long he'd waited for her to wake up. Out of those six hours, he'd spent the last three watching over her on his own, worrying about her and thinking. _Thinking_. Tonight, he'd learned something new about himself. Three hours of deep pondering was too much, even for him.

He must have gone over the events of the last one and a half weeks dozens of times. And everything that had happened the previous afternoon—at least a hundred. Her rejection, his confusion, her ordeal, his guilt. The same regrets circling around him, what he would have done, what he should have done—if only he'd known.

He suddenly stopped pacing and ended up by the bed. It wasn't doing any good anyway—she was everywhere.

Supporting his left elbow with the palm of his other hand, he glanced around himself, searching for anything that might help calm him. His sight landed on a glass of water standing on the night table. He didn't remember putting it there. Must have been his father then. It wasn't what he wanted to drink, what he _thirsted_ for, but still, better than nothing and his mouth was dry. He grabbed the glass and drained it as he sank down on the bed, closing his eyes.

In the darkness, she was even clearer in his mind.

When she had woken up, he'd only been aware of his concern for her. He should have seen it coming—of course she was going to ask him if he was all right. This was Madeline. But she'd taken him off guard with the question and when she'd given him _that_ look. The _Madeline-look._ It was the only way of defining that look—as _hers._ There simply wasn't another person in the world who could see so directly into his core as she could.

He didn't know why he'd reacted the way he did. If he were honest with himself, panic was probably the word here. After going through what he could only describe as _utter emotional_ _hell_ for nearly two weeks, he couldn't deny that he was still slightly . . . unbalanced. To put it mildly. He'd been spooked by the thought of her finding out just how bad off he had been without her. And that fear, combined with his lingering doubts, guilt, and whatever else he had going on—added to the mind-boggling, intense physical sensations he felt in her presence . . . Yea, in short—he'd panicked.

He hadn't planned on pushing her away, it was an instinctive, spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Like a reflex. He'd just climbed back over his wall and hoped she wouldn't pursue him. A bit like he'd crawled over her wall and landed in Paul's back garden.

Only Madeline hadn't wasted time crawling over his—she'd just broken the damn thing right down again. She'd reached in an touched his heart, his soul. In her innocent way, she had coaxed his emotions out of him—stripped him naked all over again—with disconcerting ease. Then she had soothed him, bathed him in comfort. Welcomed him with her touch and that unfathomable compassion of hers.

It was everything he'd craved for such a long time. He had her back again and she loved him. As much as it thrilled him, it also terrified him. Because now he knew exactly what would happen, what he would become if he ever lost her.

He just had no control when it came to her. For someone who relied on control as much as he did, Madeline was . . . disturbing. Perfect. Right. All of those things. But as for the control issue—he kept finding himself in situations where he was close to losing it. Like before, when he'd let his temper get the better of him, _again_ , all because of his own guilt and anger over not being there to stop a madman from hurting her. And then, his complete lack of control when she'd touched him and said those words he'd desperately wanted to hear. And, not to forget, when he'd kissed her.

What was he _thinking_ —kissing her in such a manner?! Under _those_ circumstances?!

No control.

Even now, in his moment of private scolding, all he wanted to do was to go down the hall—toss Paul out of the guest-room—and kiss her again.

That thought made him jolt up from the bed, and every bump and bruise he'd acquired in the previous afternoon's fight screamed at him for it. He needed to get out of this room now. It was just too small.

In a second, he was heading out into the quiet hallway, leaving his bedroom door wide open. He stopped briefly by the guest-room to make sure Paul was still in there and once he heard the doctor's muffled voice from the other side of the door, he continued towards the staircase. The dim light coming from the sitting room reached far enough up the stairs that he could see each step. When he got to the landing, his father looked up at him from his book.

"She's awake," he said as he descended the last steps.

His pa slumped in the burgundy chair, shoulders sagging under his robe.

"Thank God . . . how is she?"

"Sore . . . a bit confused. Exhausted."

"I imagine she must be . . . did you wake Paul?"

"He came in to check on her before I got the chance."

Well, true in a way.

"He'll probably rest better after he has talked with her anyway," his father said, closing the book and setting it down next to the oil lamp on the table. "I'm glad we brought her back here. I think it's the best place for her to recover."

"Yea." He sighed heavily. "She's been through so much . . ."

"Yes, she has."

Adam wandered over to the blue chair. With his right hand on the armrest, he tentatively lowered himself into it, wincing when the aches that littered his body twisted in all the most painful ways. He finally rested back against the soft cushion and felt himself calming down. Giving no thought as to who was actually in the room with him, he settled comfortably into his favorite brooding position—one ankle crossed over his knee, eyes glazed over, right fist clenched in front of his mouth.

"You might as well stop that right now."

His hand dropped. "Stop what . . ."

He didn't even bother inserting a questioning tone. The words only served the purpose of stalling. They both knew it.

His father, with infinite patience responded, "Blaming yourself. You had no way of knowing what was going on, Adam."

"That's what Madeline said," he muttered, no closer to letting go of his guilt.

"Well, Madeline is a bright young woman."

He wavered, his thumb and forefinger picking at the spot on the armrest he was examining with great intensity.

". . . I almost lost her, Pa."

"But you didn't," His father said matter-of-factly, reining him in before he went any further down that grievous trail. "Tormenting yourself with if-only's and what-if's won't help anyone. The only thing that's important now, is that she needs you. And in case you've forgotten, you _need_ her. She needs your help to be able to move on from this, and you have to be fit and healthy to help her. So, when are you planning on getting some sleep?"

"When I drop, I guess," he replied with that defensive edge to his voice, and just to make it worse, he threw in a nonchalant shrug at the end.

It always amazed him how his pa could make air thicken with disapproval in a mere second without uttering a sound.

He shuffled in the chair, keeping his eyes fastened to the armrest. "I was going to head for bed when I've looked in on her again and made sure she'll be okay for the night."

"Hm. I'm pleased to hear it, son."

Good. Now maybe they could try silence for a while.

Adam carefully resettled his bandaged arm across his stomach. It was on fire, at least that was the sensation. The thrumming ache had been present ever since Paul had stitched the wound and Hop Sing had fussed over it earlier, but now, after moving about and holding Madeline tighter than he should have been doing in any case—it was burning with pain. As if licks of fire were swiping from his wrist up to his elbow. He went still when that rumbling voice drifted across the table.

"You haven't had anything at all to ease the pain, have you?"

Well, his father certainly was straight to the point tonight. Maybe that confined bedroom hadn't been so bad after all . . .

"No. Paul offered to measure out a dose of laudanum, but I could tell how reluctant he was. I told him to forget about it."

There was a fleeting pause, the first sign of hesitation from his father to enter this conversation.

" _One_ glass of brandy would take the worst of the pain and help you sleep."

It was almost comical. The emphasis on that first word reminded him of how Hop Sing told Hoss that he could have only _one_ of something.

"I better not," he eventually said. "I'm not sure that I can . . . control it."

"You're not . . .?" The question was soft-spoken, and sounded more like a statement.

"No, Pa. In fact . . . I don't think I can yet."

That was the truth of it. He wanted a drink and he wanted more than just one. If Madeline ever, _ever_ saw him in that dark place . . . the idea nearly made him shudder. Another truth was that he hadn't actually slept yet in his recently established sober state. Now that he'd left his depressed, drunken stupor and didn't have the liquor to help lull him into a mindless sleep, he knew what was waiting. He had a few nights worth of nightmares to catch up on, and that wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect.

"Well, when you've been up to check on Madeline again, you can always come back down here if you're not ready for bed," his father said, picking up the book again. "You might just _drop_ on the settee and get some rest." He added, "I'll be reading here a while yet."

No subtle approaches tonight, that was for sure.

Adam turned his head, looked over at his pa whose features were perfectly schooled as he relaxed back in the burgundy chair. "And when are _you_ planning on getting some sleep?"

"It's Dickens, Adam," he said as if that was sufficient answer as he waved the book. "I got started on it while we were doing all this waiting and now I just can't seem to put it down."

The room became quiet and Adam watched him leaf through the pages to find the right one.

Would his nightmares still find him if he fell asleep here with someone else close by? Would his father's presence make a difference? Once upon a time, the man had proven to be pretty good at fending off nightmares. A frightened, crying, four-year-old boy's nightmares. But that was a long time ago. And very different dreams. Still . . . what if?

He was so tired. Bone-tired. Could he bring himself to just let go for a little while?

He would check on Madeline first. And think on it.


	33. Chapter 33

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the long wait on this, things have been a little rough. I've been ill and it turns out I'm a pretty bad patient (Paul Martin would not approve). Well, I'll be studying part-time at college for a while to get back on my feet, so I hope to give you all more regular updates on this story from now on._

 _I want to thank you guys for leaving me some wonderfully sweet reviews on the last chapter, I've read them again and again and they make me so happy every time. To all of you, members and Reader and Guests_ — _I am humbled by your kind, encouraging words about my writing and the idea of a sequel. I simply don't have the words to express my gratitude to you. Thank you. :)_

 _I hope you are all well and that you enjoy this chapter. This is the morning after the heated kiss! Again, sorry it took such a long time, I hope it isn't too hard to "get back into" the story. And the next chapter will be up soon!_

* * *

 **Chapter 33**

It was a quiet morning at the Ponderosa house as the grandfather clock struck nine o'clock. At this time, the Cartwrights would normally have been out at work around the ranch but that wasn't the case today. Breakfast smells were only just beginning to drift out of the kitchen into the dining room and except for the rustling of pots and pans, the downstairs part of the house was silent.

Ben came out of the kitchen, clean-shaven and dressed in a crisp white shirt and his favorite brown vest. He was carrying a tray with a coffee pot and cups and paused by the dining table to grab a couple of Hop Sing's butter cookies. The sound of clomping footsteps on wood made him look towards the sitting room where he saw his two youngest sons coming down the stairs. He set the tray down on the table.

"Good morning boys."

"Morning Pa," they replied in subdued tones.

Joe had a hand on the staircase banister to support himself and made a little wince with each step he went down. Behind him, Hoss was concentrating on placing his feet just right and unclenched his teeth long enough to mumble a _"dadburnit"_. They moved stiffly and awkwardly, shirts untucked, and their faces mottled with cuts and bruises. It had been quite a while since either of them had come down for breakfast in such a condition and to Ben, it looked like they'd limped straight out of a saloon brawl. After having suffered a solid defeat.

The father waited patiently as they crossed the sitting room and came to the dining room table. They took their usual seats opposite each other, mimicking each other's strained grimaces as they eased themselves into the chairs. Ben's eyes shifted back and forth from one son to the other as he scrutinized them in his practiced concerned-father fashion.

"How are you two feeling?"

Rubbing his jaw, Hoss said, "I reckon we're both happy about not workin' today."

Joe made a grunt to indicate his agreement, and squinted up at his father with his one good eye.

"Did Madeline wake up yet?"

"She was awake for about an hour last night. Adam said she was very weak but she's going to be fine. She'll need a lot of rest to get her strength back though."

"That poor little gal . . ." Hoss hung his head, his brow rumpled. "It just ain't right. I'll never understand how that fella could do them awful things to her . . ."

"Me neither. He got exactly what he deserved," Joe said in an icy tone that clearly conveyed his lack of sympathy for Madeline's now deceased husband. "I'm just glad that Adam found out and we could stop the guy from getting away."

Ben nodded, grim-faced. "Yes, I hate to think about what might have happened if he'd gotten away with her . . ." His voice trailed off, letting the notion hang in the air along with all the potential, tragic outcomes.

"Where's Adam?" Hoss suddenly asked as he motioned to the empty seat where his older brother usually sat. "The door to his room was open, but he weren't in there."

"He's been sitting with Madeline and Paul all morning. He's out in the washroom now."

Joe stretched across the table for the coffee pot. "I'll bet he didn't get any sleep at all last night then."

"After he saw to Madeline, we sat and talked a while down here," Ben said, pushing the pot towards his youngest. "He ended up falling asleep on the settee, so he did get a few hours at least."

That information took the brothers by surprise and they jerked towards him. Ben simply maintained a neutral mask.

Scratching his ear, Hoss faced Joe. "I guess he musta been right dead on his feet then . . ."

"That's for sure . . ." Joe mumbled.

"Mmm." Ben picked up the tray from the table again. "Well, I'm going to take some coffee up to Paul. You two get plenty of rest today. Hop Sing is almost finished with breakfast."

"Right, Pa."

He walked in the direction of the staircase and left Hoss and Joe sitting at the table, both pondering over what they'd been told. What they really wanted to know was how things were between Adam and Madeline now.

"I sure am happy Miss Madeline's gonna be all right," Hoss said, holding out his cup when Joe gestured with the coffee pot.

"Yea, me too. I tell you, I'd like to have the whole story about what's been going on . . ." Joe studied the black liquid as it poured. "A lot of stuff makes sense now, you know, why she was avoiding Adam and all that, but most of it still seems pretty confusing to me."

"I know what ya mean. Maybe if she's up for it, she'll tell us later when Roy stops by. I guess he's likely got a few questions of his own after everythin' that—"

A sudden eruption of Cantonese yelling from the kitchen interrupted Hoss mid-sentence. He gawked over at the wall that hid the kitchen entrance from view and Joe turned in his seat just in time to see their older brother rushing around the corner—his black shirt hanging halfway open and his hair damp and uncombed.

Adam slid along the floor a few inches before he came to a halt. Clutching his bandaged arm protectively to himself, he tossed a dirty look over his shoulder and mumbled something under his breath.

". . . Morning, Adam," Hoss and Joe said almost simultaneously.

They received a grumble in response which they interpreted as a morning greeting. Adam began doing up the remaining buttons of his shirt with one hand as he walked around the table, bringing a waft of soap mixed with cologne with him.

Hoss was already in the process of pouring him a cup of coffee when he sat down in his chair. "What was Hop Sing yellin' at ya for?"

Adam's head came up and for a second, it appeared as though he was attempting to glare straight through the wall, into the kitchen. If anyone could accomplish such a feat it would be him, Hoss mused.

"He's just fussing," Adam muttered. "He wanted to look at my arm when Paul only just stitched it yesterday. Nothing's changed since then, it would be fine if people would stop prodding it every chance they got."

Even as he said the words, the corners of his eyes creased when he gingerly lowered his injured limb to rest on the tabletop.

Joe peeked at Hoss over the rim of his coffee cup. While there were a few advantages to having the doc and Hop Sing in the house at the same time, this was probably the greatest one of them. Having the two people here, who at least stood a chance of breaking through their older sibling's mulish stubbornness. Well, the two people outside of their own father, that was. And even he struggled with the task.

When Hoss noticed that Adam's lips were pressed together so tightly that they'd become thin and colorless, he decided to change the subject in the hopes of taking his brother's mind off the pain.

"Pa told us Miss Madeline woke up last night . . . we're real pleased to hear she's getting' better. Maybe we kin see her later today."

The simmering frustration seeped out of Adam and his posture sagged. "She hasn't been awake this morning yet . . ."

"Then she'll probably wake up anytime now," Joe quickly jumped in.

"I hope so . . ."

Hoss and Joe exchanged anxious glances across the table while Adam kneaded his brow with the heel of his hand. Although he was more himself again, he looked pale and tired and like he could do with a few days of rest and substantial meals. Finally, Joe worked up the courage to ask the question on both of their minds.

"So, did you and Madeline . . . are you two . . . all right again now?"

Adam looked up at them. Something in his eyes softened when he saw how concerned they were. It took him a moment to find his voice.

"Yes . . . we're all right again."

Joe's mouth widened into a broad smile and a full-out grin spread across Hoss' face, threatening to break open several cuts.

"That's dang good to hear!" He was going to emphasize his happiness by slapping a hand down on the table when he caught Adam's wince as he swiftly lifted his bandaged arm up. With a sheepish look, Hoss lowered his hand again. "That's . . . I'm real happy for ya, Adam . . . for both of ya."

"Yea," Joe said. "I am too . . ."

"Thanks." Adam ducked his head as he settled his arm again. His gaze was pinned to the red and white checkered napkin down in front of him.

"I, uh . . . I know that things were a bit . . . a bit rough for a while around here and . . ." He paused when his voice dropped to an uncertain mumble. "I guess I was a little out of it and I . . . well, I said some things that—"

"Now, don't ya worry about that."

"Yea just forget it Adam, we already have," Joe said.

That wasn't really true. No one in the family had forgotten about Adam's miserable state and his disruptive behavior. But they'd forgiven him for it and they recognized the effort he was now making to get himself back in order. They wanted to help him get there.

For a few seconds, Adam sat dead still. Then his shoulders rose high and fell slowly back down. When he raised his head, he only gave a quiet nod, and avoided looking directly at either of them. His reaction was exactly what the two younger brothers had expected from him. They knew him so well.

Once again, Hoss smoothly steered the conversation in another direction by commenting on the delicious smells emanating from the kitchen. As if summoned by his words, Hop Sing appeared then with two silver trays of food in hand and Joe had to laugh. His mouth watering, Hoss eyed the trays filled with scrambled eggs, ham and hot biscuits and Joe spread his napkin across his lap in anticipation. Before returning to the kitchen, Hop Sing did deliver a cool stare to their older brother and Adam responded in his usual unaffected manner, pretending to be unaware of the cook's presence.

Hoss immediately seized the platter of eggs and started loading his plate. After taking a piece of toast for himself, Joe held the bread basket out to Adam who waved a hand dismissively. Saying nothing, Joe set the bread back on the table. He wasn't about to push his oldest sibling, not when he knew that this little demonstration of obstinacy would be brought to an end soon enough. Sometimes, the hard way was the only way with Adam.

Hop Sing made two more trips back and forth between the kitchen and dining room as he brought out more food and Hoss and Joe tucked into their breakfast while Adam sipped his coffee. They kept stealing little looks at him and they appreciated that he was taking the time to sit with them when he could have gone straight back upstairs to be with Madeline. It felt nice, being together just the three of them again.

Halfway through his first biscuit, Joe felt the weight of his older brother's intense scrutiny and turned towards him. The second he did, Adam leaned into his space, squinting at his black eye.

"Did someone poke you there again or something? It looks even worse today."

Hoss also studied Joe's shiner from across the table. "Yur right . . . it does look darker and more swollen, don't it?"

Adam hummed. "Definitely the worst I've ever seen."

"Guess I've got the new record then," Joe said triumphantly, turning to Hoss with a smug grin. He even attempted a cheeky wink, but tried it with his bad eye and ended up giving a hiss of pain instead.

Hoss' brow wrinkled in sympathy. "Ain't no kind of record I'd wanna be holdin' anyhow, Joe. You did right by stickin' with your gun yesterday instead of using your fists. Otherwise we might not have had nothin' left of ya now."

"By the way," Adam said, "how did you two find Roy and get to the livery stable so quickly?"

Hoss and Joe resisted the urge to lock eyes with each other. They'd already told Adam this story the previous evening, but he'd been so caught up in his worry for Madeline that he hadn't taken much else in.

Setting down his cutlery, Hoss started to explain again. "Well, after you went off to talk to Miss Madeline about Joe bein' bushwhacked, we ran into Roy." He glanced over at his younger brother with a smile that matched the sudden gleam in his eyes. "Actually . . . we ran into someone else first. Adam, ya won't never believe who showed up just after you left while Joe was still surrounded by that group of gals."

Adam's voice filled with apprehension. "Oh, I think I will . . ."

"Maisy McCoy, that's who!"

"Please, Hoss . . ." Joe swallowed the last lump of biscuit with obvious difficulty. "Don't remind me . . ."

"Sorry, shortshanks," Hoss said, genuinely apologetic when Joe cringed as his mind forced him to relieve the awkward episode.

"Anyhow," he quickly went on, "After that, we ran into Roy on our way to his office. We were tellin' 'im about Joe bein' bushwhacked when two cowboys came over and said that Pa needed the sheriff at the doc's house. So, we went with Roy to the doc's where we found Pa and he told us about Miss Madeline and that you'd gone to the livery. We figured you'd need some help, so we got there as fast as we could."

"Good thing we did too," Joe took over. "For a fella who's always so hell-bent on thinking things through and being prepared, you sure went in there without much of a plan."

Adam calmly reached for his coffee. "Of course, I had a plan."

"Ha!" Hoss nearly choked on a bite of toast. "And just what were ya plannin' to do about the big fella who was tryin' his darndest to squash ya into a smear?

"And pretty near succeeded too," Joe supplied helpfully.

A flash of pain crossed Adam's face at the memory and he brought the coffee cup up to his chin. "He got up behind me, that's all. I was working on a way of getting free."

"Sure, ya were."

"He probably would've been just fine without us, Hoss," Joe said with a smile.

Adam went quiet and set the coffee cup down on the table again without taking a sip.

"No, I wouldn't." He stared down into the dark drink. "If the two of you hadn't arrived when you did, she might . . ." The rest of the words wouldn't come. He stayed silent, lost in his struggle to express himself and Hoss and Joe felt for him. When he did speak again, it was in that even, measured cadence they also knew very well. "Anyway, I'm just relieved she's going to be all right and that you two didn't get really seriously hurt."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but out of the three of us, you got the worst of it, older brother," Joe stated bluntly.

"That's right," Hoss said, looking him over.

They waited, and sure enough, the usual "I'm fine" reply rolled off Adam's lips with ease. Joe couldn't help himself and briefly glanced skyward. When he faced his oldest brother again, it was apparent that his little display hadn't gone unnoticed. Neither he nor Hoss had expected to see the sides of Adam's mouth turn upward, and their faces lit up with grins at seeing that trademark half-smile. Adam made himself comfortable in his chair and they continued enjoying their breakfast.

"How's the doc doing, Adam?" Joe asked after a minute as he set down his cutlery to grab his coffee.

All of a sudden, scurrying steps entered the dining room and drew Joe's and Hoss' attention. Since Adam was still going with his strategy of refusing to acknowledge the cook, he couldn't very well look up at Hop Sing. Therefore, he was not at all prepared when his unused plate was snatched away and a plate laden with food smacked down right in front of him—with such force that the scrambled eggs jiggled and some toppled off the toast.

Adam's stunned expression almost made Joe spray the tabletop with a mouthful of coffee. With nothing else to add, apparently, Hop Sing whisked off to the kitchen again. Trying to keep from laughing, Hoss pointed his fork at Adam's generously filled plate.

"You better get started on that now if'n ya wanna be finished before supper."

"Hoss . . . you have to help me out here."

Hoss opened his mouth, about to outright refuse, but then he realized that this was no act. His older brother was clearly overwhelmed, peering down at the food as if a great misfortune had befallen him. He shared a look with Joe and both regarded Adam with fondness.

"I tell ya what . . . you get through at least half of that and I'll see what I kin do."

Adam picked up his fork, looking skeptical. "All right, I guess . . ."

Hoss and Joe tried not to be too obvious about observing him as he took the first couple of tentative mouthfuls. With each bite he took, he approached the next with more energy and seemed surprised at himself. The two younger brothers weren't the least bit surprised though. For the last two weeks, he had barely touched his food at breakfast and supper and since the previous weekend, they knew that his diet had consisted almost exclusively of liquids, and all the wrong kinds. It was good to see his appetite returning. They continued eating their own breakfast, feeling relieved and cheerful. They had their brother back.

xXXx

Adam walked along the porch and cast a glance up at the cloudless sky. The sun shone brightly and unhindered, but the temperature had dropped considerably now with the fall approaching. This time of year always seemed to arrive just when everybody was sick and tired of the relentless summer heat. He probably should have worn his jacket, but he'd only meant to be outside for a short while.

He stepped back inside the house and closed the front door. As he wandered to the settee, he threw a sidelong look over at the dining table which was now cleared of dishware.

It had been almost an hour since he'd left Madeline's room and he'd accomplished a lot in that time. Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, he'd had a much-needed bath and a shave. Not a close shave though, he had only gotten as far as trimming the worst of his stubble when Hop Sing had walked in, wearing the look of a man who was on the hunt for an injury to probe. Adam had decided to leave the washroom there and then. He'd sat with his brothers for about half an hour, something he hadn't planned on, but it had been worth it. The short time they'd spent together had meant a lot to Joe and Hoss, he was in no doubt about that. He only wished they hadn't acted as though he was doing them a great favor by sitting down with them. They had been grateful to him when it should be the other way around. It made no sense—they'd accepted him back into the brotherly banter without reserve even though he'd been anything but a good older brother to them lately.

After breakfast, they had gone to their rooms to rest up and he'd needed a few minutes alone outside to clear his head. He felt better for it and the fresh air had also helped settle his stomach after the ample breakfast serving Hop Sing had dished up. Without Hoss' assistance, he probably wouldn't even be upright still.

But now, he really needed to get back to Madeline. He'd been away from her for too long already. With that thought in mind, he strode around the settee and headed for the staircase.

She must still be sleeping. Paul would have called him if she'd woken—Adam knew that for a fact. Not that he thought that the doctor was above pulling a stunt like the one he'd pulled himself the previous night. But he knew that Paul would get him the minute she woke up, just to prove a point.

He got to the bottom of the stairs and climbed the steps as quickly as his aching body would allow.

The effects of the previous afternoon's fight had really set in. It felt like the whole front of his torso had been caught in a cast iron vise, like his chest had been compressed and still hadn't returned to normal size. Whenever he inhaled or exhaled too deeply, he could almost hear his rib cage creaking and groaning, sort of like the stairs creaked with every step he ascended. He'd been in plenty of fights before though, and his experience was that the first few days were always the worst, then the pain would become bearable.

As he reached the landing halfway up the staircase, he twisted left to take the next step up when an injury along his ribs pulled painfully, making him stumble. Without thinking, he put his bad arm out to steady himself against the railing and his breath hitched as pain seemed to explode throughout his body. He managed to stop himself from falling, but only at the last second. Leaning his weight against the railing beside him, he squeezed his eyes shut, clasping his left elbow.

He'd had a reason other than his own stubbornness for refusing to let Hop Sing take a look at the wound earlier. The honest truth was that the pain had become so bad, he didn't want anybody touching it unless it was strictly necessary. He could feel his arm pulsating under the bandage and every time he jostled it—like just now—fresh, searing pain assaulted him as if a hot knife was slicing through the cloth, through his skin, straight to the bone.

He took a couple of deep breaths to get his composure back, still leaning on the wooden banister. When he felt ready, he tried the next step, moving more carefully this time.

From the top of the stairs, he went down the hall and stopped outside the first guestroom on his right. His gaze traveled further down the hallway though—to the closed door of his father's bedroom. He guessed that his pa must have gone to catch up on some sleep. The sleep he hadn't gotten last night because he'd stayed awake watching over his oldest son.

Adam still couldn't quite believe that he'd allowed that to happen. He'd been so tired, too tired to think clearly. He was fairly sure he'd had a nightmare, but he had no recollection of it. Probably because he'd been too exhausted to remember anything. His father hadn't said anything about it, not directly. It was strange really, Adam had awoken to find himself actually sitting up on the settee with his eyes already open, his heart pounding wildly. And those familiar, strong hands holding onto his shoulders and his father's voice in his ear, calming and soothing.

The fact that he didn't remember the nightmare was definitely a mercy he didn't deserve.

He made himself take a mental step back when he realized where his line of thinking was taking him. He'd already wasted too much time drowning himself in self-pity and God knows what else—now he needed to be the reliable one, the strong one. It was exactly as his father had said last night—Madeline needed him.

Turning back to the guestroom, he grasped the door handle. He was about to push the door open when a sudden thought gave him pause. After narrowly escaping an ambush from Hop Sing in the washroom, he was now about to walk straight into the line of fire. Paul was in that room. But so was Madeline. And as far as Adam was concerned—wherever she was, he wanted to be. Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door.

Paul was just as he'd left him; sitting cross-legged in the chair by the bed, wearing his charcoal waistcoat, writing in the journal he kept for his patients' medical records. There was now a tray with a coffee pot and cups standing on the night table next to him.

"Nothing yet?" Adam asked quietly as he closed the door.

"Still sleeping peacefully," the doctor said, never stopping his scribbling. "She's catching up on a lot of rest which is a good thing. It's what her body needs most of all."

Adam moved stealthily across the room and stopped by the bed as he peered down at Madeline. She still lay swallowed up in the covers and pillows and to him, it didn't look like she'd even moved in the time he'd been away. Disappointment flooded him. He'd hoped that she would have at least stirred by now. It worried him that she hadn't.

"And you're sure she's—"

"She'll be fine," Paul said, finishing his sentence with a dot before lifting the pencil from the page. "You might as well sit. Standing around like that won't make a difference."

Rubbing the side of his face, Adam slumped down into the chair next to the doctor. He just wanted her to wake up—he needed to hear her voice, see her beautiful eyes. Make sure she was actually getting better. Some part of his brain was waiting for that scratching sound of pencil-scrawling to resume, only, it didn't.

Adam braced himself.

"Well, I see that you're successfully ignoring all my advice," Paul said with deceptive calm.

Hearing no actual question there, Adam decided there really was no reason to comment.

"What did you do to that sling then? I didn't make it for you just to entertain myself, you know."

"I don't need the sling," he said tersely.

"Of course, you don't. What was I thinking, pay no mind to me. After all, I'm merely a doctor."

Adam exhaled slowly through his nose.

"You do realize, that with everything you've put that arm through, it's quite a wonder that infection hasn't set in yet."

"Paul."

"—But cheer up lad, you might still manage it. Since you evidently intend to do everything possible to hinder your recovery."

A welcome silence ensued.

Then, Adam spoke out at the room. "Are you done?"

"I believe so."

The scribbling started up again. Adam shut the noise out. In fact, he shut everything around him out and focused all his attention on Madeline.

She was lying on her back, her deep-brown hair cascading over the pillow and down her shoulders. Her lashes, lavish and long, lay still as dark crescents against her milky skin. Her lips were parted, moving slightly with every soft breath. She reminded him of a sleeping princess from a fairy tale. Impossibly beautiful. Fair and innocent. Even in sleep, her grace was palpable to anyone who laid eyes on her, same as her inner goodness, so vividly etched into her features as if she bore the face of compassion itself.

The vision of her like that suddenly made his chest swell with emotion. She looked tiny in the bed, like a delicate porcelain doll. So fragile. Vulnerable. The urge to reach out to her almost overwhelmed him. He wanted to touch her, make contact with her in some way. But gentle as he knew he would be, gentle as he would _always_ be with her, he worried that even his tender touch might damage her. She'd been hurt so much already.

He stiffened in the chair when he saw a sudden movement. His breath stayed suspended in his lungs as he watched her. She stirred. Her head rolled to the side and then with a little sigh, her breathing settled into that even rhythm again.

A jolt ran through him when her new position made her hair slide down and away from her collarbone, baring the bruising around her neck. Brutal purple-blue, fingerprints, so wrong on her flawless skin. His eyes were transfixed on it. He couldn't stand to see it, yet he couldn't look away. With each second his sight remained there, he felt his temperature rising. As images of that man's face flickered through his mind. Images of the animal who'd dared hurt her.

His hand still cupped his left elbow and without realizing it, his grip tightened until the pressure became ruthless. Madeline wouldn't want this, he knew that. He needed to let go, bury his anger along with the man who was at the root of it. But how? How could he when Ray Bradshaw's marks were still on her? Reminding him. The guy was dead but still alive in his mind and he resented it. He could only imagine how frightened and alone she must have felt. To know that she had been trapped with a heartless brute who had done such cruel things to her . . . and all the while he'd had no idea. Thinking about it made him feel sick.

Everything was pulsating now, not just his arm, but his whole body. His fury was like a hot torrent flowing through his veins, igniting his blood—rousing the darker side of his character. Gradually, the growing, physical pain crept in through the angry haze that had swept over his awareness. Demanding that he master his temper. It took everything he had, all of his will power, but he finally wrestled his gaze away from Madeline's exposed neck.

One thing was certain; he would make sure that no one ever hurt her, _ever_ again. And if she let him, he would spend the rest of his life keeping her safe. Those thoughts had an instantaneous, calming effect on him.

As he simmered down, he became aware of a few things. First off—his arm was throbbing relentlessly, much worse than before. Second, he realized that the fault was his own and he instantly let go of his elbow. And, of course, the last thing he noticed, was the lack of sound around him. The lack of pencil-scribbling.

He shot a look to his left. Only to find two unblinking eyes honed on him. Flint-sharp orbs, the color of polished steel. And above them, feathery silvered eyebrows drawn low. It was obvious that Paul had been watching him for some time.

Adam turned away, trying to keep the pain from showing on his face. But he still felt Paul's gaze intent on him, so penetrating, like it was reaching into his mind and seeing everything, probing his thoughts. Biting the inside of his cheek, he waited, but the doctor continued to watch him. Until it became too much. He jerked his head left again.

"What?!" he snapped, louder than he'd intended.

Paul's expression went from assessing to disapproving, and he glanced over at Madeline, then back at Adam. "I'm going to get you a dose of laudanum, that's what."

"No," Adam said, quieter now. He hugged his injured arm to himself. "No . . . I don't need any."

"Look, it's plain to see that you're in a lot of pain—in the last few minutes, you've gone paler than she is!" Paul hissed, gesturing to Madeline who, by some miracle, slept on.

"I said, I don't need it."

"You're just being a stubborn—" The doctor paused the sentence to grit his teeth together. "I was hesitant to give you anything yesterday, but I can't just sit by while you're . . ." Shaking his head, he closed the journal and set it on the night table.

"I'll be fine. Now, drop it."

"You need something. For the pain as well as—"

"Drop it," Adam cut him off, letting a note of intimidation darken his voice.

"Don't you use that tone with me, Adam." Paul jabbed the pointy end of the pencil at him since he couldn't yell or vent his frustration any other way. "You're either going to take the blasted laudanum or tell me what's going on with you."

"Why can't you just—" Adam clamped his mouth shut. It was useless. They glared at each other for a few prolonged seconds. Then, with a mumbled curse, Paul started to rise from the chair. As a last resort, Adam fixed him with a stare so fierce and deep with intensity that it went far beyond anything even Paul could produce.

"I don't want any because I _can't_."

The doctor froze, hovering above the seat of the chair, hands braced on the armrests. His annoyance deflated as understanding began to trickle in and he slowly sank back down.

Adam faced Madeline again. "No medicine, no liquor. I might not be able to handle it and I can't take that chance. I need to keep my head clear right now. For her . . . and for them."

The soft-spoken words were followed by a heavy silence. Adam didn't know what to expect as he waited for his friend to respond to his admission. It crossed his mind that the doc might not comment at all—which would suit him just fine. What he definitely hadn't anticipated, was for Paul to rise from the chair anyway.

The doctor placed the pencil on the night table, stepped around Adam's chair and proceeded across the room without a word. Adam drew his lips into a tight line and every muscle in his body tensed in apprehension. He listened for Paul rummaging around at the back of the room where he knew the black doctor's bag stood by the dresser and cupboard, but he refused to look behind him. When he heard determined steps approach, the dreadful thought occurred to him that the older man might attempt spoon-feeding the laudanum to him. But instead of bringing back a little brown flask, Paul appeared beside him with a tufted pillow.

"At the very least, rest it on here."

Adam couldn't help but notice the time he took to fluff up the pillow. When the doc placed it on his lap and reached for his arm, he almost flinched, but managed to suppress the impulse. Paul's touch was careful and considerate as he arranged the bandaged limb on the pillow.

"There, try to keep it angled like that and don't move it at all for at least ten minutes." Straightening up, he stepped over to sit in the other chair again. "And stop clenching your fist," he said gruffly, picking up his journal and pencil. "Flexing the muscles by the wound certainly won't lessen the pain." He huffed. "You really shouldn't need a doctor to tell you that."

Considering his arm thoughtfully, Adam did as he'd been told and kept it completely still. After a minute or so, he chanced a half-peek out of the corner of his eye.

A quiet "thanks" floated out into the room.

Paul grunted something indecipherable, and the pencil started a furious scrawling across the page.

Adam looked down at his arm again. He had to admit that it did help, resting it this way—already the pain was going down just from keeping it relaxed on the soft cushion. Then again, he really didn't feel like admitting it. Not verbally, anyway. So, he settled back in his chair, arming himself with patience as he waited for Madeline to wake up.

xXXx


	34. Chapter 34

_Author's Notes_

 _Hi all!_

 _Thank you for your kind well-wishes and reviews, I'm just happy to have more time to write again. I do enjoy writing the emotional scenes, and I try to keep the drama and the emotional struggles of the characters as realistic as possible, but it's also nice to work some humor back into the story. It's a difficult balance to strike, I think, but I'm pleased that you enjoyed the lighthearted moments in the last chapter. The brotherly banter needs to be in there and I just love writing Adam and Paul together. :)_

 _I hope you all like this next part._

* * *

 **Chapter 34**

An hour later, Madeline was still asleep. Adam was basically on pins and needles at that point and he could tell that Paul was also concerned. The doctor glared down at the journal propped on his knees, the pencil motionless in his hand. Just as Adam was about to suggest that they rouse her, he noticed the bed covers rustle down by her feet. His gaze darted up to her face where he saw her lashes begin to flicker.

He shot forwards in his chair. "Madeline . . .?"

That got Paul's attention too and the doctor mirrored his sitting position, blindly shoving the journal onto the night table. Her lashes fluttered like wings of a butterfly hesitating to take flight until finally, they parted.

Confusion clouded her eyes at first. When she was able to focus and see who was sitting next to the bed, a faint smile spread across her lips.

"Hi . . ." she said, her voice so weak, so small. Then her smile faded. "Is something wrong . . .?"

Paul and Adam glanced at each other and shared a mental cringe. Both of them leaning forwards in their chairs, staring at her in wide-eyed elation and relief—they probably did make a rather alarming sight for someone who'd just woken up.

"Wrong?" Paul coughed and leaned backwards, no doubt going for a casual recline. "No, nothing's wrong, nothing at all, we . . ." He twirled the pencil between his fingers. "Well, we're just happy to see you awake, dear."

"Oh . . ."

Her forehead creased in a worried frown when she saw the pillow on Adam's lap and his arm resting on it.

"How is your arm? Is it getting worse?"

Adam blinked down at his lap. "No, no, it's fine. I just . . ." He grappled for an explanation and ended up focusing on the occupant of the chair beside him. "The doc's insistence," he said, throwing his good hand out. "You know how he is."

"Indeed."

Said doctor managed to deliver that one word with all the dryness of trail-dust. Fortunately for Adam, Madeline was too sleep-dazed to pursue the matter.

"Do you think you could eat something, my Belle?" Paul asked. "You haven't had anything since breakfast yesterday and it's important you get some nourishment, so you can regain your strength."

Madeline thought for a moment. "I could try . . ."

"Very good. Adam, why don't you go—"

"I should probably stay here, Paul." Nodding at his arm, Adam gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Like you said, better not move it too much."

The eye-contact between the two men was really quite something. Adam thought he was being very reasonable, but Paul didn't seem to agree, if the muscle twitching in his cheek was anything to go by. Looking down, Adam was curious to see if the pencil in the doctor's clenched fist would snap in half.

"Of course . . ." Paul said in a labored tone, baring his teeth in some awkward combination of a grimace and a smile. "I'll go down and see if Hop Sing can't rustle something up."

Madeline watched him affectionately. "Thank you, Uncle Paul . . ."

"You just rest now. I'll be right back."

Paul stood from his chair, leaving Adam with the distinct impression that the last part of that sentence was directed at him.

As soon as the doctor had gone out into the hall, Adam placed the pillow on the foot of the bed and Madeline became his entire world. She seemed a little confused as she looked out at the room and he was literally sitting on the edge of his chair, wriggling like a child unable to sit still. He wanted to be closer to her, he just wasn't sure how to go about it. Whether she meant to or not, she soon gave him the perfect excuse when she shifted on the bed and he recognized what she wanted.

"You want to sit up?" he quickly asked.

"Yes, I . . ."

In one fluid motion, he moved from the chair to the side of the bed. With both hands under her arms, he helped her into a sitting position. His left arm made some vigorous protests at that, but he tried to ignore it and reached around her to arrange the pillows against the headboard.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you . . ."

Her lingering grogginess dissipated as her eyes settled on him. They roamed over his face, as if searching. For what, he didn't know, but he guessed that after last night, she needed some sort of reassurance from him. He brought his hand up to her cheek and tucked his favorite curl behind her ear. She smiled gently, lifted her hand and laid it against the back of his to keep his palm there. Her eyes fell closed. He couldn't resist—his gaze lowered to her mouth. Those plump, pink lips, so enticing. The memory of how sweet and soft they'd tasted the night before only made him crave them even more. His heart began to beat faster. Regrettably, he was very aware that he couldn't let himself get carried away. After all, Paul would be _right back_. But then, maybe just a quick kiss . . .

His thoughts were swiftly redirected when he saw that her eyes had opened again. They were fully alert now and shining with worry.

"What's wrong, honey?" he asked, stroking her cheek.

"Has . . . has Mr. Coffee been here yet?"

"No, not yet. It's still pretty early."

"Oh, good . . . because I really must speak with him. I need to explain everything to him and to your family, it's very important, Adam." She pulled his hand down from her face and held it tightly between her soft palms. "Promise me you will tell me when he arrives, even if I'm asleep and you have to wake me," she said, sudden urgency edging her voice.

"Okay, easy Madeline, I promise."

With a relieved sigh, she sat back against the pillows. When he noticed that the subtle wrinkles hadn't quite left her brow, he pushed on. "Right, what else?"

Tipping her head to the side, she eyed him questioningly.

"I'm sorry . . . what do you mean?"

"Something else is troubling you and I want to know what it is."

She nibbled on her full bottom lip, looking unsure and quite adorable.

"The restaurant," she eventually said. "Sally won't know what is going on, where I am or why. The cakes and pies that I usually make . . . well, you see, I am the only one who has the recipes for them and there are customers expecting them to be on sale. The older ladies who come in for their tea and cake on the weekends will be very disappointed, I'm afraid . . ."

She peered uncertainly at him and Adam had to swallow the exasperated words that wanted out. The only thing she should be thinking about was getting better—he didn't give a damn about whether or not Mrs. Abernathy got her favorite cake on the weekend. But this wasn't about him, he reminded himself. It was about Madeline and he knew how important her job was to her and how she worried about disappointing people. Besides, she wouldn't rest properly anyway before they had this little problem sorted out.

"All right, how about this," he said, smoothing his thumb back and forth along her palm, "you write a message for Sally and explain where you are and that you can't work at the restaurant for a while. We'll give it to Roy when he comes, he'll make sure she gets it. You can even write a couple of recipes down _if_ you're up for it. You know most of them by heart anyway."

Her face contorted in concentration while she considered the idea. "I hadn't thought of that . . . you don't think Mr. Coffee would mind?"

"Trust me, he'll be happy to help. And Sally will understand." He shifted closer to her on the bed. "There's no need to worry, we'll figure everything out together, sweetheart. I'm taking care of you now."

She dipped her head and began rubbing his hand between both of hers. "You are . . .?"

"Oh, you bet I am."

A deep tenderness softened her expression as she looked up at him. "I have missed that . . ."

"Missed what?"

She reached up, touched the tip of her forefinger to the corner of his mouth, tracing the little curve. "Your smile . . ."

The curve inched higher and a dimple surfaced. He leaned towards her face. "You know what I've missed . . .?" he whispered.

Smiling in anticipation, she moved forwards to meet him. "What did you miss . . .?"

He was about to show her, when the horrible sound of footsteps entering the room stopped him just short of her lips.

"Well, that Hop Sing certainly is a man of foresight," Paul said loudly. "He's already made two types of broth for you. He'll bring some up in a minute, I believe you're in for a treat, little Belle."

Now, Adam wasn't one to jump to conclusions or make false accusations. But to be honest, he strongly suspected the doctor of running at least part of the way between this room and the kitchen.

Madeline looked around Adam to see her uncle. "Oh, I hope he didn't go to too much trouble . . . he really is a wonderful man. It's been such a long time since I last saw him . . ."

"Mmm, he was excited to see you too, dear."

Paul's line of sight switched to Adam, and his grey eyebrows jumped up as if he had only just spotted him sitting on the bed. "Why Adam! I thought we agreed that you would rest that arm of yours. Hmm, let's see, now what did you do with that pillow . . ."

Scratching at the bandage around his head, he searched for the missing item.

It was probably for the best that Madeline hadn't let go of Adam's good hand. It effectively prevented him from throwing something at the doctor. And he was tempted.

"Aha, here we are."

Paul held up the pillow by the foot of the bed and accompanied the movement with a look that encouraged Adam to return to his chair. Immediately. Madeline caressed the back of his hand, her soft eyes clearly asking him to bear with her uncle. With a somewhat forced smile, Adam gave her hand a little squeeze before rising from the bed. He had barely sat down in the chair again when the pillow plunked onto his lap.

Bear with Paul. Sure, he could do that. For now. But he longed for the day when he could shower Madeline with his love without having Paul Martin walk in on them every other minute. He only hoped that day would come soon.

It wasn't long before Hop Sing arrived with a big bowl of chicken broth and a chunk of freshly baked bread for Madeline. She was overjoyed to see him and quickly apologized for any inconvenience she might have caused him, as was her way. Hop Sing, of course, dismissed her apology and placed the tray across her lap while he chattered on about how nice it was to have her back at the Ponderosa again. The cook stuck around while she ate, and they talked about some new recipes he had been experimenting with. Not once did Hop Sing refer to anything that had happened over the last couple of weeks and he acted as he always had with her, making it seem like she was just there on a social visit. Adam was grateful to him for it because he could see how happy it made Madeline and how relaxed she became.

To both Adam's and Paul's delight she finished the entire bowl of broth and the bread. She thanked Hop Sing for the delicious meal and as he took the tray to return to the kitchen, he told her he would bring up some more treats for her later. On his way out of the door, the cook nearly collided with Ben who was on his way in. Madeline's face beamed when she saw him, and he strode straight to the bed where he sat down and took her hand, saying how good it was to see her awake and sitting up.

Adam watched the interaction with a subtle smile. It was obvious how fond his father had become of Madeline and it gave him a warm feeling inside, seeing them together. Like Hop Sing, Ben didn't mention anything about what had happened but only emphasized that she had been sorely missed around the Ponderosa. Madeline was so busy thanking him for taking her in at the ranch that she didn't notice when Hoss and Joe tentatively peeked into the room through the open door. In fact, no one noticed except for Paul and it wasn't until he beckoned them in that the brothers entered the room.

Madeline's first reaction upon seeing their battered appearances was immediate distress and they had to spend a good five minutes assuring her that they were all right. Joe fired off a couple of jokes about how nice it was to finally have a few days off work from their slave-driving father—which Hoss wholeheartedly agreed with. Since that seemed to lift her spirits, Ben refrained from commenting and instead settled for a raised eyebrow aimed at his youngest sons.

Adam watched his brothers' antics with amusement, but also became worried that Madeline would feel overwhelmed with everyone there. But on the contrary, she seemed happy to be surrounded by all the Cartwrights and asked Joe and Hoss about the work they had been doing around the ranch since she last visited. Adam was content to just listen to their conversation, relishing in simply hearing the sound of her voice. It struck him then, how well she fit in there, with his father and brothers, in their home. She was practically already a part of the family.

xXXx

About four o'clock in the afternoon, Adam and Paul were back in their chairs by the bed and Madeline was sleeping again. After she'd written down some recipes along with her message for Sally, they had given her some privacy to wash, take care of her needs and change into a fresh nightgown. But even that limited activity had taxed her strength and by the time they had come back into the room, she was barely able to keep her eyes open.

She had been dozing for close to half an hour when the sound of a horse coming into the yard alerted the two men. Adam got up and walked over to the window.

"It's Roy," he said, holding the curtains open.

Paul stood from his chair, watching Madeline. "We'll probably need to wake her then. She insisted on speaking to him in person . . ."

"Wait a minute." Turning around to the doctor, Adam rubbed his chin in thought. "Let's go down and talk to him first. We don't know what's been going on in town since we left yesterday, and I want to hear what he has to say before we involve her."

"I see your point . . . all right, let's go then."

As quietly as possible, they walked to the door which stood ajar. They closed it behind them and Madeline never stirred.

When the two came down the stairs, they saw Ben, Joe and Hoss forming a three-man half-circle around the sheriff. Roy stood in the middle of the sitting room, still wearing his hat and he was dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the previous day. The lines on his forehead were enhanced and his face held a look of sullen heaviness, almost as if his features had drooped under the weight of the grievous events that had taken place the day before. His demeanor was severe and solemn, matching his face precisely. And then there was something else too, a dark sense of foreboding that he'd brought with him into the house, palpable to everyone there.

"Hello Roy . . ." Adam said as he and Paul descended the last step and headed over to the group.

"Adam, Doc." The sheriff inclined his head at them. "I'm mighty glad to see ya both lookin' better. How's Miss Madeline?"

"She's sleeping just now. We're going to wake her in a minute, we just wanted to talk to you first and hear if you had any news."

"I reckon that was a good idea. Because I sure do have some news, Adam . . ."

Roy took off his hat and smeared a palm across his face. Judging by the dark shadows under his eyes, he hadn't gotten much sleep last night.

"So, I've gathered that this Ray Bradshaw and Chris Barns were one and the same? Miss Madeline's husband?"

"That's right."

"Well . . . turns out that Chris Barns had a partner by the name Robert Wickworth. They were involved in a fake railroad scam. Seems they've been travellin' around the West from town to town, swindling people by selling worthless railroad bonds. This morning, I received wires from a few sheriffs around Nevada and Utah who confirmed their identities. Two of the sleaziest confidence men I ever came across."

Hands on his hips, Joe turned to his father. "So, that was the railroad Bradshaw wanted to talk to you about at the International House. He was gonna try to get you to invest in it."

"Mmm . . . if he'd gotten an investment out of me, it would've helped him sell the deal to other businessmen around Virginia City too . . ." Ben mumbled, crossing his arms.

Hoss spoke up. "Roy, what about the partner, that Wickworth fella? Are you gonna try and track 'im down?"

"No. No, I won't be doing that, Hoss." The sheriff paused, pursing his lips. "Robert Wickworth was found in his room at the International House last night. He'd been strangled to death and stuffed in a closet."

An eerie silence engulfed the men. They traded glances, all thinking the same thing, yet no one moved or spoke for several seconds.

Adam was the first to react. "We're not telling Madeline about this."

Ben held up his hands. "Now Adam, we don't know for sure who—"

"Of course, we know who did it, Pa. It was him. Bradshaw murdered his partner."

"He's right, Ben" Roy broke in. "One of the men I got in jail told me that this Wickworth was planning to spill everything to me. So, Barns, uh or Bradshaw went and killed 'im. That must've been why he was in such a hurry to get Miss Madeline and leave town yesterday."

Everyone fell quiet again, struggling to find words as the extent of the man's insanity was becoming more and more apparent to them.

"Like I said . . . we're not telling Madeline about this." Adam swept a harsh look around him as if daring anyone to object.

"I have to agree with Adam," Paul stepped in. "There's no reason for her to know, especially not now in her vulnerable state."

"Yes, it probably is best to keep it from her for now." Ben's voice dropped, heavy with meaning. "But once the news spreads around town . . ."

"We'll deal with it then," Adam said with finality.

They all agreed on it and Roy faced Adam and Paul.

"Well, I'm just about ready to hear this whole story, if you think she's up for it."

Adam heaved a big breath. "She needs to tell it as much as you need to hear it." He turned in the direction of the staircase. "I'll go and get her."

xXXx

"You ready for this, sweetheart?"

"I'm . . . I hope so, Adam . . ."

"Just remember that everyone down there cares about you," Adam said, helping Madeline pull her blue robe tighter around her. "No one blames you for anything that happened yesterday, and they won't blame you for what's been going on these last couple of weeks."

When he finished tying the string of her robe around her waist, he put his hands under her elbows, completely unconcerned about how the pain in his arm was flaring up again.

"All you need to do, is tell it how it happened, just the facts. I'm sure you'll feel better afterwards, it'll be a relief when it's all out."

"Yes . . ."

She concentrated intensely on the top button of his shirt.

"I'll be right there with you, Madeline. Everything's gonna be okay . . ."

She wasn't even aware that she was doing it, but her hand had crept up to the high collar of her nightgown where her fingers were fidgeting with the white fabric, trying to tug it higher than it would go. He couldn't take it, watching her do that, so he took hold of her wrist to stop her.

"It's covered . . ." he simply said.

She swallowed and nodded. Speaking was beyond her just then, and he knew it. A smile, that's what he wanted to give her—a calm and reassuring smile. But he didn't have it in him. All he could do was take her hand and lead her out of the bedroom.

The muted conversation in the sitting room instantly ceased, and all heads turned towards the stairs as Adam and Madeline came down. Her fingers were bone-white as they curled around the wooden railing and Adam stayed close beside her with one supporting arm around her waist and his other hand holding hers in a firm grip. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders and moved in graceful waves down her back. The light-blue robe nearly went far enough to cover her feet and made it seem like she was floating down the staircase—her steps so light, the stairs didn't even creak where she treaded. There was a touching fragility to her appearance, as though she could break at any second and the slightest breeze could sweep her away. The men standing in the sitting room all found themselves affected by it, that beautiful frailness, and they watched her solemnly, their eyes alight with concern, their protective instincts stirred.

When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she looked over at them with a nervous smile and still not a word had been said. Adam was steering her straight towards the settee and they made it past Paul, Hoss and Joe when she suddenly stopped to address Roy.

"Mr. Coffee, it is nice to see you. Thank you for coming all the way out here."

Adam inwardly cursed her politeness and perfect sense of propriety. She needed to sit down, _now_ , before she dropped.

"Let's, Madeline honey, let's sit down _first_ and then talk . . ."

Roy seemed to share his sentiment because he motioned almost frantically to the settee.

"Yea, I—please, sit down, Ma'am . . ."

"Oh . . . yes, all right."

Adam helped her sit in the middle of the settee and he took his own seat right next to her, so near that the side of his body pressed against hers. He didn't think twice about grasping her hand again and her lips turned up a fraction when he did. In some circles, their closeness might be considered improper, especially since they were not yet formally betrothed, but he didn't care. Everyone in this particular room knew how he felt about her, and they could guess what his intentions were.

The others also settled down. Hoss and Joe perched by the fireplace, Ben took the red chair and Roy sat in the blue. Adam expected Paul to come over and sit down at Madeline's other side, but he didn't. The doctor stayed standing, leaning his elbows on the backrest of the red chair, hands folded by his mouth.

Roy took charge then and his tone was warm and full of feeling as he spoke to Madeline.

"I sure am sorry for everythin' you've been through Ma'am. I know ya must be tired out 'n all, but I was hopin' you could fill me in on a few things. To be frank, I'm a mite confused about everythin' that happened yesterday."

"Yes, of course, sir," she said, meeting the sheriff's eyes. "I really must explain . . . but I'm afraid it is a rather long story . . ."

"That's all right, I'm in no rush. You just take your time."

She glanced over at her uncle who watched her calmly until she looked back at the sheriff. Her mouth opened but slowly closed again. She was at a loss to know how to start.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Roy said, "Just start from the beginning, Miss."

"Yes, all right . . ."

Madeline wondered then, just what the _beginning_ of it all actually was. And it became so clear to her, suddenly, that the beginning was the day she had married Ray Bradshaw. So, that's where she started. She explained about her marriage to Ray and why she'd left him, which was all news to the sheriff. Next, she spoke of her reasons for keeping the marriage a secret when she'd arrived in Virginia City. She had only ever discussed those things with two people—her uncle and Adam.

So much had happened since that Friday afternoon when she had finally told Adam the truth about her past—the same day he'd said he loved her for the first time at Silver Creek. Ben had also found out about her marriage that afternoon, after her uncle told him, and she remembered how understanding he'd been and that he'd offered to tell Hoss and Joe.

But now, it wasn't her uncle or Ben or Adam telling it—it was _her_ —and even though she knew that Hoss and Joe had been informed of her past, they listened intently as she put it into her own words. Since they had gotten hurt and caught in the middle, she felt that it was the least she could do.

The next part was hard for her to get through. Everybody was startled when she revealed that Ray had broken into her uncle's house that first night she'd been alone there. Well, everyone except for Adam because he already knew. She still wasn't sure how Ray had found her and could only say that she believed he had been watching her for some time because he'd known about her uncle's trip to San Francisco.

As she went over the events of the last one and a half weeks, there were a couple of times where her voice died away when the memories came too close, became too painful. At those moments, her eyes grew glassy and distant and they took on a haunted quality, an indication of how much the horrors she had endured still affected her when she thought of them. But each time she seemed to lose herself in the past, a little squeeze to her hand brought her back to the present and she found strength in Adam's presence beside her to continue.

She explained about Ray's threats towards Adam and her uncle but didn't go into much detail about his abusive treatment of her. There were even a few episodes she chose to leave out. She was under no illusions; everyone knew she had been hurt—Adam and her uncle had seen her injuries and they would have told the others. But she saw no point in adding to their upset by mentioning more of the violence that had been done to her. It was over now, and her bruises would heal, like some already had. However, when she got to the part where Joe had been attacked, her conscience would only let her speak the entire truth. It was the incident, next to the attack on her uncle, that distressed her the most. She still felt guilty about not being able to get to the sheriff and about the fact that she had let Joe walk straight into an ambush without knowing it until it was too late. While she was relieved that he didn't blame her, she felt an aching pang in her heart each time she focused on his black eye, just as she did when she looked at the bandage around her uncle's head. So many people had been hurt because of a decision she had made three years ago when she'd agreed to marry the wrong man.

No one said anything while she spoke. There were no interruptions, no questions. Only her voice filled the room. But the men's responses to what she said were easy to discern by their tense postures and grim faces. Shock. Resentment. Outrage. But she recognized that their animosity wasn't aimed at her. Like Adam had told her before, they all cared about her and she saw it in the sympathetic way they regarded her in spite of their angry countenances.

It was all over before she knew it because, surprisingly enough, she really didn't recall much of what had happened the previous day. The last thing she clearly remembered, was Adam climbing over the fence to her uncle's back garden. After that, everything was blurry. Except for a few sharp images of her uncle lying unconscious on the kitchen floor and the chaotic scene at the livery stable. But all in all, everyone around her seemed to know more about what had happened yesterday than she did. When they sensed that she had trailed off for good, they started mumbling among themselves, now able to piece everything together.

She listened, but without taking much in. A huge wave of exhaustion and relief washed over her, and she unconsciously nestled closer to Adam's side. Her story had been told. She felt that she could finally begin to let go, now that she had explained herself to the people she cared about. It was as if she had talked everything out and the burden of all those words, of all the secrets and the hurt had lifted from her heart. It was quite a surreal feeling.

A brief, soft pressure to the top of her head made her smile slightly. She loved him so much. While everybody else was busy talking, he was quiet, just holding her hand, sneaking in a kiss to her hair.

Eventually, the men's voices died down and the serious, somber atmosphere had lifted considerably. Roy fell back in the blue chair, smoothing down his mustache.

"Well, after all that, I reckon I could do with a drink. What do you say Ben?"

Ben's eyes happened to be on Adam when Roy spoke, and they froze there for a moment. Then he smiled, just a little strained, and faced the sheriff. "Of course, Roy."

He stood up, but instead of going to the drinks cabinet by the dining table, he walked over to the alcove where his desk stood.

Madeline probably wouldn't have noticed that anything was wrong if not for her uncle and the odd way he suddenly looked over at her. Perplexed, she peered back at him. Until it dawned on her, what it was she found odd. His appraising eyes weren't actually on her, but on Adam.

Joe and Hoss spoke with Roy, discussing the charges that would be made against the men he had in jail, but Madeline found it difficult to concentrate on their conversation. Ben returned from the alcove with a bottle of brandy and continued towards the drinks cabinet. A look passed between him and her uncle, and she caught it. Less than a minute later, he came back to the sitting room, holding a tray with crystal glasses and the brandy bottle.

A strange tension filled the room as Ben started pouring the drinks, first one for Roy, then for Paul. Whatever was going on, Madeline got the sense that Adam was somehow at the center of it. Starting to feel uneasy, she sat up straighter and angled her head towards him. She found that he was watching her. He was watching her like she was the only other person in the room and like nothing existed except for her. His half-smile appeared, but something about it was off, and she was unable to smile back.

When Ben had poured a third glass of brandy, he held it out to Hoss who said, "No thanks, Pa."

Ben looked surprised but quickly recovered. He moved towards Joe who promptly shook his head and held up a hand. "No thanks, not for me, Pa."

That was when Adam faced away from Madeline. She saw him gaze over at his brothers, who in turn both looked down at the floor.

Ben hesitated. Just a short, quiet hesitation and yet it told so much. Finally, he shifted towards Adam and in a motion that was half-hearted at most, he held out the full brandy glass in the air. Saying nothing.

Adam pulled his sight away from his brothers and stared at the glass.

"No thanks, Pa," he said in a soft voice and bowed his head.

Madeline's throat had gone dry and her chest felt painfully tight. She studied the side of his face, her eyes bright, but she knew better than to expect him to look at her.

It was Ben who put an end to the suffocating silence. "Well, then . . ." He held up the glass and his tone was strong and unwavering. "To family and friends, and to swift recoveries. And Madeline, dear," he said, drawing her attention, "I want you to know that we're very happy to have you here with us. You have a home at the Ponderosa for as long as you need it."

Hoss and Joe gave hums of agreement to that and Ben glanced at her uncle standing next to him. "That goes for you too, Paul."

Madeline regarded them with misty-eyed gratitude. "Thank you all so much . . ." Her uncle raised his own drink. "We appreciate it, Ben."

Roy also lifted his glass. "I'll drink to all of that."

The three men took long sips of their brandies and Hoss and Joe started talking about nothing in particular. It was just talk for the sake of talking, designed to prevent another silence.

Tentatively, Madeline turned back to Adam. His head was still down, his dark brows dipping low like he was concentrating very hard. But she'd already seen more than he'd wanted her to see.

In her gentle manner, she tried a light squeeze to his hand. After a second, he raised his chin, presenting a blank expression to the rest of the room, emotions hidden perfectly like only he could manage it. Then he squeezed her hand back. A private, loving communication that only the two of them knew about. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his shoulder. This was her place, where she belonged. She needed him. And she was beginning to understand just how much he needed her.


	35. Chapter 35

**Author's Notes**

Hello everybody!

I really, really wish I was uploading more frequently, but it's just taking me longer at the moment. I want to give my best to the story and to all of you and it's just taking a bit more effort than usual to get there.

Thank you so much, members and guests, for the reviews on the last chapter. They put a great big smile on my face and I am grateful to you for taking the time to share your thoughts. I was very happy as I read the wonderful comments about Madeline, her personality and her relationship with Adam. When I started this story, I worried that readers wouldn't take to her, so your kind comments about her mean so much to me. The other thing I worried most about with the way I write, is the amount of detail and description. But as many of you have let me know, you enjoy that, so that's wonderful to hear. As always, your feedback teaches me so much and makes me a lot better at telling this story than I otherwise would be.

I have an extra long chapter for you this time! I hope you enjoy it and I wish everybody a great week. :)

* * *

 **Chapter 35**

Paperwork. So much paperwork. There were so many pages and ledgers lying about, the mahogany surface of the desk wasn't even visible anymore. This was not the " _systematic chaos",_ as he liked to call it, that usually materialized when he worked on the books. This was an outright disaster.

One thing Ben had always taken special pride in was his organizational skills when it came to running the ranch. He was a natural born supervisor and that fact combined with his abilities as a cattleman had been vital to his success all those years ago when he'd bought his very first herd of steers. Since then, he'd made it a priority that the bookkeeping was in perfect order and it had been more than worthwhile. The Ponderosa had started out as a dream—a daring idea conceived by a man with a vision. A man with a sharp eye for good business who possessed the tenacity to pursue that dream even through adversities that would have crushed most. He'd gone from barely making ends meet, and he'd become the owner of the most prosperous ranch in Nevada.

For the last decade, he'd had all the paperwork worthy of the empire he'd built. But while he'd hired dozens and dozens of men to help carry the ever-growing physical work-load, he was more or less still managing the bookkeeping single-handedly. There was an imbalance there, just as Adam had pointed out to him many times over the years. It made perfect sense; business was thriving and hiring someone on to help out with the books would be a logical, not to mention sensible move to make. Yet somehow, making that change was . . . tough. Ben liked being the one in charge, and more importantly, he wanted to keep the managing of the Ponderosa within the family. But neither Hoss nor Joe were good with the books and although Adam had always helped out when he could, he'd made choices that had taken his life in other directions. Away from the Ponderosa. Ben was, unlike his oldest son, not always so enthusiastic about changes even if they meant progress. Call him old-fashioned, but change unnerved him. Then again, he might just be plain stubborn.

This morning, his stubbornness was no help to him. For the last five minutes, he'd hardly moved behind his desk, and he was currently staring down the mountain of papers and account books which seemed to be glaring right back at him. He'd been at it for hours already. Since the sun had first peeked over the horizon and he'd decided to get up to start on the neglected work.

And here it was, all laid out before him. There were cutting figures from the logging camp to go over, cattle reports to read, herd tallies, bills and then supply lists to make. It wasn't like him to let the paperwork pile up like this, but with the way things had been going lately, it was little wonder he'd fallen behind. With his thoughts constantly on Adam, he'd been too preoccupied to get much done.

Since becoming a father, he'd learned that nothing could ever distress him more than seeing one of his sons hurting. It really didn't matter whether they were small children or grown men—they were still his boys. All three of them had suffered these last couple of weeks, and the situation had been even more upsetting because of Adam's unsettling and uncharacteristic behavior. Ben now realized that what he'd witnessed was a demonstration of just how much those four years at war had changed his oldest son.

He had never seen Adam in such a dark place before. He'd never known him to act so recklessly, to say such bitter, angry things. Even though Adam was working on getting better, Ben had seen the worst of him. He'd seen the devastation and torment that his son's strict composure usually kept hidden so well. And he couldn't forget it.

When the trouble with Madeline had first begun, Ben was shocked that her withdrawal had pushed Adam to such a state of depression. But now that he'd had time to think it all over, his understanding of the events had changed. He'd spent most of the previous night wondering if those dark, despairing feelings hadn't existed all along within his troubled boy. Which meant that Madeline's absence had not caused them, but rather brought them to the surface. This idea tied in with how out of sorts Adam had been when he'd first returned home from the war and how everything had changed for him when he met Madeline Delaney for the first time. In the months that had gone by since then, his mood and health had improved and he'd seemed happier. It was as if she had suppressed his sorrow and given him a new purpose.

However, after witnessing him spiral out of control, there was no doubt in Ben's mind about how pained and disturbed Adam still was. It would take time for him to get over this setback. Difficult as it was to accept, Ben could only help as much as his son allowed him to. He was more grateful than ever for Paul's presence in their home and for Hoss' and Joe's considerate handling of their older brother. Most of all, he was thankful that Madeline was back in their lives because he believed that she was what Adam needed more than anything at this time. He just hoped it would be enough. If it wasn't . . .

He stopped his pondering right there because that was a thought he didn't dare pursue. There was little point anyway, nothing good would come of it. Besides, the clutter on his desk wouldn't take care of itself.

With renewed determination, Ben scooted forwards in his chair, assuming an upright posture. He moved a few ledgers around, working to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. The next thing that required his attention was their current lumber deals. He flicked through a stack of logging camp papers until he found what he'd been searching for. The contract where Ben was to supply the timber for new settlers' houses in the lower Washoe Valley.

He read through it carefully. When he'd finished, he was even more convinced that his decision was the right one to make. They were already behind on the cutting and now, they were shorthanded as well. He wanted Hoss and Joe to have at least a few more days of rest before they returned to work, and Adam would need even longer to recover—in spite of what he might think himself. Adjustments needed to be made. There was one very simple way of getting back on track.

Taking a blank sheet of paper, Ben picked up his pen and began writing, his manner decisive. The pen danced confidently across the page, composing a concise message that came about a lot easier than he'd thought it would. He paused at the end of a sentence and stretched out his free hand to find his coffee cup. Feeling the cold porcelain with his fingers, he discovered that the cup was empty, and he remembered that it had been for a while.

He was having a mental debate on whether to go in search of more coffee when a noise from the staircase diverted his thoughts.

The sight of Adam coming down the first steps made Ben's heart sink. It didn't particularly surprise him, but he was disappointed all the same. His face fell into deeper lines when he noted his son's slow and strained manner of descending. Adam gripped the banister tightly and kept his eyes focused on each step down. Wanting to avoid startling him, Ben remained completely still in his chair.

He correctly guessed that Adam had been unaware of his presence. That much was clear by the young man's surprised look when he reached the landing, raised his head and their gazes collided. Then, in perfect, obstinate Adam-fashion, he let go of the banister, pulled his shoulders back and continued down the stairs without aid.

Only Adam. Only Adam could make Ben go from being worried to exasperated in such short order. He dropped his eyes to his desk because at that instant, even the paperwork was less frustrating to look at. Glaring down at the unfinished letter, he dipped his pen in the inkwell with more force than was required before continuing in a jagged handwriting. Two sentences later, he sensed his firstborn come to a halt in front of the desk.

"Good morning, Pa."

Ben stalled his reply as he kept writing the final few words.

"Good morning, son."

Satisfied with the letter, he set it aside along with his pen. He reclined back, propping his elbows on the arm rests of the chair and folding his hands by his chin.

"You're up early again."

He tried to keep it from sounding like an accusation, but the bite to Adam's retort let him know he had been unsuccessful.

"So are you."

Cradling his left arm to his side, Adam perched one hip on the edge of the desk, trying but not quite managing to stifle a wince. With a casualness that did nothing to alleviate his father's exasperation, he motioned to the papers and books.

"What are you working on?"

Without answering, Ben inspected him and made no effort to hide it. Blatantly, he moved his gaze over him, discontented with what he saw. There was no need to ask how he'd slept—Adam's unkempt appearance and drawn face said everything. Asking about his arm would be just as useless because Ben already knew what the answer would be. For a second, he considered pointing out that there was a suitable chair just there on the other side of the desk which would make for a much more comfortable sitting arrangement. But then he caught Adam's eyes and the challenging tilt of his head.

Ben blew out a long breath. "I'm just taking care of the bookkeeping." He sat forward in his chair again and started flipping through the pages of the ledger for the logging camp. "There were a few things I needed to catch up on, so I thought I'd get an early start."

"I haven't even looked at any of those books in weeks . . ." Adam mumbled.

There was unmistakable guilt in his voice, making it quiet and hesitant.

"I don't want you to worry about that," Ben said, facing him. "Anyway, I'm used to taking care of it myself. It's not as if those brothers of yours suddenly took an interest in it during the years you were away."

Adam's brows knitted together as he studied the chaos on the desk. His sight locked onto the newly written letter and he grabbed it. Out of all the papers lying about, Ben thought in irritation, Adam would of course pick up that particular one.

"What's this?"

Retrieving the letter from his son's hand, Ben replied in a steady tone. "It's a letter regarding that timber deal for the housing in Washoe Valley. We're pulling out of it."

"But why? You worked hard on getting that contract . . ."

"Yes, well. You can't win them all."

After putting the letter aside again, Ben went back to leafing through the ledger, hoping that would be the end of it.

"I asked you why you're pulling out of it, Pa."

His hands stilled on the pages, and Ben dropped his chin in resignation. Any attempt to avoid this discussion would be futile. He took his pen and reached for the report on the latest cutting figures, knowing its exact location in the chaos of papers.

"It's a fairly big order and we're already behind." He tapped the pen against the page to punctuate his point and Adam leaned across the desk to see better. "We have enough timber cut to meet the first and second shipments, but we won't be able to make the next ones. The recent rain has made the eastern slope muddy and it's slowed down the transportation of the logs. Now we're also shorthanded. So, I'll have the men deliver what we've got and then I'm going to give the rest of the deal to Dryden Lumber company."

Contempt flashed in Adam's eyes. "To Charles Dryden?"

"Mmm. I might have had a few run-ins with him over the years, but he is still a good businessman and runs a smooth operation. His company is the closest and best suited to take over this job." Setting down his pen, Ben pointed to the desktop. "There's plenty of work here and we have those two other lumber deals with the mining companies that we need to get started on."

He waited for his son to speak his mind as Adam pursed his mouth into a knot, contemplating.

"I think it's too early to give this one away," he finally said. "I'll be able to work again soon, and we can hire on some extra lumberjacks for a while to make up for the lost time."

"I'm not giving it away because we can't do it. I'm letting it go because it isn't worth it."

That gave Adam pause and Ben went on.

"After everything that's happened, we all need time to get back on our feet. The last thing this family needs is the pressure of meeting a deadline we're already behind on." Catching the familiar shift in his son's countenance, Ben held up a finger. "And before you go adding this to your personal list of things to feel guilty about—this isn't just for your sake. It's for your brothers too."

He was only doing what was best for everyone under the circumstances. If he didn't get out of this deal, Adam would feel obligated to take it on. And knowing him, he would more than likely fulfill the contract and work himself into a state of exhaustion while doing it. Which simply wasn't acceptable since he was in pretty bad shape already. Ben might not be able to help him with the inner struggles he refused to share, but this was one thing he could do something about. He could help by taking at least one worry away.

"There will be plenty of other contracts," he finished.

"Maybe I should just take a quick look . . ." Adam stared down at the report but didn't try to reach for it. "There might be a way of—"

"The decision has already been made, son," Ben said, employing the tone he used to indicate that a discussion was over. "Besides . . ." He jutted out his chin towards the staircase. "That girl up there is more important than anything in these books, so I suggest you save your attention for her."

Receiving no response to that, he rubbed his palms against his eyes. The moment he'd been dreading since last night had come. There was no use in putting it off any longer. He blinked until his vision cleared and looked directly at Adam.

"But there is something else you need to see . . ."

He opened the top drawer of his desk and got out two envelopes. There wasn't really anything to say about it, so he simply held them out.

Clearly confused, Adam took them. "Where did these come from? Did you send someone to town for the mail?"

"No, Roy brought them with him yesterday. He figured we would want to stay out of town for a while, so he stopped by the post office before coming out here."

As expected, that dark, arched eyebrow raised a fraction, silently demanding an elaboration.

Managing a calm face, Ben explained. "I felt that you had quite enough on your mind yesterday, so I decided to wait with telling you about the letters."

Holding his son's sharp eyes, Ben tried to appear as though he was completely assured of that decision. He got off easier than expected when Adam said nothing and instead turned to the two letters. After studying both, he laid one on the desk and started to open the other. It was awkward to watch since he attempted to use his left hand as little as possible. Ben fought the impulse to intervene. When Adam unfolded the paper within the envelope and began to read, it was obvious by his expression that the contents of the letter were unpleasant. His jaw locked tight and the bright hazel of his irises seemed to darken as he read until the color ended in earthy brown.

Several minutes went by before he glanced up. "It's from my army friend in Georgia. You remember I sent a letter to him a couple of weeks ago, asking him to check up on Ray Bradshaw?"

"Yes, I remember." Ben felt sudden trepidation twist his gut. "What does he have to say?"

Angling his face downward to the letter again, Adam recited, ". . . _Ray Bradshaw is wanted by the law in Augusta, charged with fraud and with the murder of an unidentified man and a housemaid . . . his current whereabouts are unknown, but my search has led me to believe that he has left the South and may have traveled West . . ._ "

Adam stopped reading aloud and faced Ben. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither speaking because words were unnecessary. He folded the letter again and stuffed it back in the envelope.

"I'll write him and explain what's happened. He'll pass the news on to the relevant officials in Georgia."

Ben nodded his assent. "I assume you won't be telling Madeline about this."

"Of course not," Adam said evenly.

As if the very idea was madness. Quite the reaction to expect from him.

Growing thoughtful, Ben studied him closely, noticing the dispassionate set of his mouth, the slight dullness to his eyes—all adding to the attitude of detachment he mastered so well. Adam must have felt his perusal and glanced over at him.

"What?"

With a shrug, Ben leaned back, crossing his legs. "I didn't say anything."

For a few seconds, it looked like Adam had something on his mind but wasn't sure if he wanted to say it. Or rather, how to say it. Instead of speaking, he turned away, standing. He paced back and forth in front of the desk, clutching the envelope, and Ben, ever the patient one, observed him quietly. In mid-pace he abruptly stopped, spun around and thrust out his hand.

"Look, now that I'm taking care of her, it's up to me to protect her from information like this"—He flapped the letter around—"which will only upset her even more. And for what? She doesn't need to know."

"Mmm. Oh, I completely agree with you."

"Well . . . good."

A gradual smile worked its way across Ben's face. Adam gave a puzzled, if somewhat annoyed look.

"What now?"

"Nothing. It's just, you said _now that you're taking care of her_."

". . .Yea." He dropped the letter onto the desk. "So?"

"Well, Paul being her uncle, I'd say _he_ ' _s_ the one who's responsible for her."

A pause came between them. Adam began swiping his thumb along the polished edge of the desk.

"All right, so technically he is . . . since they're family . . . but he won't be responsible for her for much longer. Not if it's up to me anyway."

"Oh?"

Adam's back suddenly slumped and he perched on the desk again as he released a deep breath.

"I want to marry her, Pa . . ."

It was sort of odd, hearing those words from him. Ben had known it for a long time, in fact, anyone would know just by watching the couple together. But this was the first time the marriage subject had actually come up in conversation with Adam.

"Well, I can honestly say that there's no woman I would be prouder to have as my daughter-in-law."

"Yea." Adam rested his bandaged arm on his thigh. "It's what I want, and I think . . . I _feel_ it's what she wants too . . ."

"But?" Ben prodded.

"There isn't a _but_ , exactly. Except for . . . well, except for . . ." His features hardened as his frustration spilled over, coming through in his voice. "With the way Paul is acting, I'm starting to doubt that he'll ever let me."

Seeing his son look so disheartened over such a thing almost made Ben smile as he regarded him with open affection. "Adam . . . what you need to understand about Paul is, that she's the only family he has. He loves that girl like she was his own daughter. Finding out about what she's gone through these last weeks has been very hard for him. Remember, it wasn't just you she pushed away. She shut him out too. And just as you have a strong need to spend time with her and reconnect with her—Paul feels the same way." He added a subtle push to his tone. "You can't really blame him from that, can you?"

Pensive lines now on his brow, Adam sat very still.

"No . . . I guess not," he said with some reluctance.

"He will come around. It'll just take him time."

"Yea, you're probably right." Shifting his weight, Adam muttered. "He sure doesn't make things easy though."

"To be fair, if she were my daughter, I think I'd have a hard time letting her go too."

They said nothing more of that, but Ben was pleased they'd had this talk before the tension between Adam and the doctor got out of hand. While he could certainly see where the young man was coming from, he also understood Paul's position in all this. Adam was perhaps a little too in love to take that into consideration.

Ben broke off his pondering when he noticed that Adam had picked up the second envelope and was staring at it.

"Are you going upstairs to read that one?" he asked softly.

"No. It's from Jim and I know what it's going to be about." A deep sadness shadowed his face as he tentatively brushed the paper. "I don't need to read it right now."

Didn't need to, or he couldn't? Ben wondered about that but didn't ask. He also had an idea of what the message regarded. Although the letters that Adam received from his friends in the military caused Ben unease, he wouldn't push him on this.

Deciding to break away from that subject, he rose from the chair with as much energy as he could muster.

"Well, since we're both up early and I have another couple of hours of work ahead of me, how about we go and make some coffee?"

Adam's gaze lingered on the envelope for a second. "All right." He retrieved the letter from Georgia and held both as he stood up.

Ben was stretching to relieve the kinks in his back when he felt a sudden apprehension in his son.

"What's wrong?"

"Uh . . ." Adam peered towards the kitchen. "Is Hop Sing out there?"

"No. He's out by the chicken coop, collecting eggs."

"All right. Then I think I'll just get a fresh shirt and go clean up in the washroom before he tries something."

As Adam swiftly headed for the stairs, Ben walked around the desk, his lips lifting slightly.

"He'll catch up with you sooner or later, you know . . ."

Shaking his head, Adam didn't turn back. "He always does."

xXXx

At nine o'clock, everyone in the house was awake. Joe was the last to appear for breakfast, loathed to leave his comfortable slumber yet forced to when Hoss tried to rouse him for the second time, threatening to finish the bacon. The pleasant surprise of Hop Sing's pancakes waiting for him on the table—one of Joe's favorites—quickly soothed his bad temper and aching body though.

Everybody took the day to rest, filling out the time with easy conversation and various board games and card games. The way the mood had lightened in the home was palpable and it showed especially in Madeline's behavior. It had meant everything to her that she'd finally explained herself to everyone, hard as it had been to speak of her ordeal. Her smiles now reached her eyes again, where the natural brightness was returning, and she was less tired. She delighted in spending time with all the Cartwrights, not just Adam, and her room seemed to be the life of the house since there were always three or more people in there. The fact that she was comfortable made everyone else happy—no one more than Adam and Paul. Although she was still weak and couldn't be out of bed for long stretches at a time, her recovery was well under way.

Hop Sing was in his element, fussing and sometimes complaining about number one, two and three sons while he displayed his milder nature when he saw to his Missy Madeline. He treated her like a queen; bringing food to her room, supplying her with pots of her favorite tea and even cups of warmed chocolate. She did gently admonish him for spoiling her so, but all that earned her, was a toothy grin from him and more tea and homemade cookies. He truly held her dear, and Hoss and Joe in particular were intrigued to see this new side of their moody cook. Adam wasn't so surprised at the effect she had on him. It was just how Madeline was—one of the many, rare qualities that made her so extraordinary. Without even trying, she moved people like no other, in her effortless, innocent way. One could do absolutely nothing but adore her.

From late morning to early afternoon, Adam spent every moment he could with her, which meant that he practically never left her room. Normally, he despised sitting still when he was recovering from an illness or injury—just like his youngest brother did. Where Joe quickly got bored, Adam always felt restless and eager to get back to work, so he would typically attempt to do some chores—much to his family's frustration. This was just about the first time in his life he'd dutifully followed Paul's order to rest. He wasn't fooling anyone though. There was one very specific reason for his compliance and lack of desire to leave the house. One brown-haired, fair-skinned, intensely appealing reason.

So, he stayed in Madeline's room, taking every opportunity to be near her and making the most of it. But while he enjoyed seeing her interact with his family, he also longed to be alone with her. That longing only seemed to grow over the course of the day. For the last couple of months, he'd gotten used to spending a great deal of time with her just the two of them. They'd been taking regular rides out to Silver Creek, and at times, they'd even shared a couple of hours of privacy at Paul's house when he was out doing house calls. But as it was now, Adam had to force himself to keep a certain distance from her.

Things would have been different if they were formally engaged, but although he was more than ready to take their courtship to the next stage, he didn't know when he'd get the chance to do so. With others watching practically every second, he couldn't be close to her the way he craved. No holding her, no kissing. He couldn't say the things he wanted, couldn't express his love physically or too openly, and it felt as though he was held hostage by the rules of courting. It wouldn't have bothered him so much, sharing her with everyone, if he'd only had some assurance that he would get to spend time with her alone soon. But as the day progressed, that seemed less and less likely to happen.

Mostly, this was thanks to the consistent, unwavering presence of one agitating doctor who appeared to have taken root in the chair by Madeline's bed.

Whatever went on, Paul was right there by Madeline's side. Whoever entered or left the room, he remained in his seat. The strain between him and Adam could be felt by the other Cartwrights, not to mention by Madeline who was literally in the middle of it all. It was taking Adam great effort to keep his temper in check and he had a feeling it was just a matter of time before the older man's excessive chaperoning pushed him too far.

xXXx

By late afternoon, Adam's patience had reached its end. He was sitting on the side of the bed, facing Madeline as she rested back against a heap of pillows at the headboard. Keeping his mind on their current game of chess, was proving to be near impossible.

Despite the conversation he'd had with his father early that day, his intention to give the doctor some leeway had not only gone out the window—it had rolled off the edge of the porch roof and plummeted to the dusty ground, meeting a crushing demise. Paul's customary dry tone, indirect jibes and watchful eyes, were just rubbing him all the wrong ways. What didn't help matters, was the insistent headache pounding away at his temples and the pressure building behind his sore eyelids. That made him irritable, and snappier too.

It was after one such snappy reply to some sarcastic comment from Paul, that the older man finally took his leave. After rising from his chair in a most dignified manner, the doctor marched to the door and on his way out of the room, remarked that he hoped to have a cup of coffee with a more even-tempered Cartwright downstairs.

Adam let that one go, but with a rough exhale. His eyes met Madeline's and she gave a small smile before moving her attention back to the chessboard balancing on a pillow in between them.

Alone with her at last, and he still couldn't enjoy it. As propriety dictated, the door to the room was left wide open and would stay that way so anyone could, at any time, walk in. And as Adam knew, the doctor was not to be trusted. Oh no, Paul would be back, soon and suddenly, he was sure of it.

Madeline's cautious voice interrupted his frustrated musings.

"Adam?"

"Mmh . . .?"

"It's your turn again . . ."

With a slow blink, he transferred his gaze to the chessboard. He might as well be looking at the game for the first time in his life. After short evaluation, he reached out and moved his Knight to take one of her Pawns. He looked at her again and she frowned down at what he'd done.

"Is something wrong with that move . . .?"

She took her time before replying, as if contemplating her answer carefully. "I think perhaps you should reconsider it."

He glanced down again. And realized he'd just given her the game. His King was vulnerable to attack from a direction he hadn't noticed and he could see how the next few moves would play out. She would put him in check, he would then be forced to take her Queen with his King and she would have him in Checkmate after that. Of course, sweet as she was, she wanted to give him the chance of making another move . . .

Annoyed with himself, he began resetting the chess pieces with his good hand.

"No, you've already won this one fair and square. I just wasn't thinking straight."

He felt her watching him, but he focused on each chess piece.

"That is the third game in a row I've won then . . ."

"Mmm, is it?" he asked absently.

"Yes . . . if I didn't have more faith in you sir, I might suspect you of letting me win again."

Her words were light with gentle teasing, an obvious attempt to lift his mood. A spark of self-loathing rose up in him because he was doing it again—brooding and thinking about _his_ needs when he should be concentrating on _hers_. Here she was, trying to cheer him up and he was wasting their time together by sulking. He didn't know what to say so he just stayed silent. After a little pause, she spoke again but this time her tone was different, laced with concern and care.

"What is troubling you? You are distracted . . ."

He shifted to reposition the cushion his bandaged arm rested on. "Nothing is . . . I'm not distracted, really . . ."

She fell quiet and he looked up at her from under his brow. Sudden warmth blossomed in his chest as he took in her endearing expression. Her eyes had filled with mild disapproval, and then there was that cute little crease between her brows which appeared whenever she was being serious.

"Then you really are letting me win again . . . even after I asked you not to, Adam."

How could he keep from smiling? She was the most adorable thing that had ever existed. He dropped a Bishop to take her hand instead and began tracing circling patterns over her knuckles with his thumb.

"Now, why would I do a thing like that? It happened one time—you made your objections and I _promised_ I wouldn't do it again, remember?"

"Yes, that's true, you did promise . . ." Her displeasure melted away, her mouth curving. "But, if you insist that you aren't letting me win, then you definitely _are_ distracted . . ."

Well, she had him there. And honestly, it was too much effort to argue.

"Maybe a little bit," he conceded, releasing her hand.

She softly encouraged him to go on. "A little bit?"

In a moment of weakness, he bent his head. Propping his elbow on his knee, he rubbed a hand along the sidewhiskers on his cheek, and his eyelids suddenly dropped. What could he say? Yes, he was distracted, and his exhaustion made all the muscles in his body feel like lead-weights. He was so tired. There were too many . . . things.

Opening his eyes again, he saw that her perfect face was now marred by a worried frown.

Great.

He began studying the chessboard with exaggerated concentration—anything to avoid looking her way.

"You aren't sleeping very well . . ." she stated quietly.

Ridiculously, his first impulse was to deny it. Why was it so hard for him, admitting his struggles? He couldn't even justify the urge by telling himself that she wouldn't understand because he already knew she would. Madeline always did. Yes, she always did . . .

"Sleep is . . . sort of _difficult_ at the moment." There, he'd said it.

"I am sorry to hear that . . ."

He waited. His mind screaming at him to flee the conversation while his heart whispered for him to give in.

"Adam, you told me once about your nightmares . . . and about how they affect you at times . . ."

Her voice seemed to go softer with every word, a tone so tender and loving it wrapped around him, making him powerless. Trapped. He recognized what she wanted from him. But he just couldn't do that right now. He was barely holding things together as it was. In his room lay a letter that he couldn't bring himself to read. Frightful images from the night plagued him even now, promising their return later. The urge to drink—to allow himself that blissful relief—tormented him in every moment of self-doubt. And there was such pain. The pain had become as much a part of him as his bad arm—a rolling agony that came in waves of varying intensity but never, not even for a second, went away completely. He couldn't talk about these things. Not now. He wasn't ready. Lifting his head, he looked her straight in the eye, and for once, did nothing to disguise what he felt.

Almost instantly, he saw his own pain reflected on her face. As if she had sensed the anguish in his heart and now felt it with him too. A moist shimmer appeared in her forest green depths and it baffled him that she could feel so much of him when he wasn't even speaking to her.

"It's all right . . ." she simply said.

 _No, it's not_ , he thought. Because it wasn't.

She smiled. Just a sad smile, and she raised her hand to his face. Starting by his chin, she lightly stroked his jaw, then moved her fingers up to trace his left cheek. He closed his eyes and let a slow sigh slip out.

God, that felt good.

He loved her touch. Soft and gentle like everything else about her. The feel of her silky skin was nourishing to him, it was healing like he'd never known anything to be. He still couldn't figure it, how she did all these things to him with such ease. Bit by bit, the ache and profound sadness within started to get lost in those loving caresses. The sharp pressure in his throat lessened. It was utterly mystifying how her touch affected him; in one way it was soothing, calming, and in another . . . tantalizing.

Her hand left his cheek, trailed upward, and the next thing he felt was her fingers brushing through his hair in tender strokes. A shiver of awareness rippled through him. While his mind was drifting, going to a nice, drowsy place, his body was just awakening. Her hand moved in the same comforting rhythm, and he found himself getting warmer. Little tingles shot up his back and that familiar feeling of anticipation crept in, that desire snaked through his belly, lower. Maybe it was because of his fatigue, but he seemed to have even less control than usual over his physical reactions to being near her. Actually, with the way she was making him feel right now—he was having difficulty exercising any form of self-control at all. The fleeting thought passed through his mind that he should try to get a hold of himself. But it felt so good. So good. She carried pure magic in her fingertips and he was defenseless against it. Didn't even want to defend himself anymore. His need for her went bone-deep. With her, everything was better. He was better.

Her voice drifted in through the sensual haze she had created around him.

"Would you like to have another game of chess . . .?"

No. He wanted her to keep touching him. There were probably a hundred things he would rather be doing with her right now than playing chess. Some more innocent than others. Still, at least pretend to consider her suggestion . . .

"I don't think I'd fare much better," he eventually said.

"I don't think you would either."

He got one eye open and saw a cheeky lift to her lips. He really wanted to kiss that smile right off her sweet mouth.

"You shouldn't be teasing me, you know . . . I've never lost three games in a row before"

"I am sorry." The twinkle in her eyes indicated she really wasn't. She brought her hand down to his cheek again. "Would you have preferred if I'd let you win?"

To hell with it. He _needed_ to kiss her. Unable to contain himself, he leaned forward, tipping the chessboard with his front so it slid off the pillow. He stopped just inches from her mouth, his hooded eyes relaying his intent. Her lips parted, and a thrill jolted him at the glimmer of heated attention that flashed across her face.

"We shouldn't . . ." she said on a breath. "Someone could come in at any moment . . ."

And by someone, she meant Paul. Obviously.

"Yea, I know . . ."

She was right. The gentle voice of reason. He was already so worked up, the odds of him being able to keep a kiss brief and light were relatively slim. All right, nonexistent. Doing what he could to hide his disappointment, he widened the distance between them again. He pulled her hand from his cheek and pressed a long kiss to her knuckles.

"Thank you," he said.

He hoped she wouldn't ask him _for what_ because he had no idea where to even begin. He'd just needed to say it. Her countenance smoothed, and she gave him her softest look. Then, she viewed the scattered chess pieces on the bed covers.

"Well, I think that was it for our chess session."

He hummed, letting go of her hand. "Maybe I'll challenge you to a checkers tournament later. I might have more luck."

"Oh, you will need more luck. Checkers is my specialty as you know."

Yes, he did know, and he always enjoyed seeing her get all caught up in the game.

She started collecting all the chess pieces, placing them in a little velvet pouch and he observed her, the effect of her caresses lingering in his body. Once all the pieces had been recovered, she tied the strings of the pouch and laid it on the chessboard. She went to set the board on the night table, but as she lifted it and twisted sideways, she suddenly jerked, and a little exclamation of pained shock rushed from her open mouth.

"Whoa," he said, quickly taking the board and tossing it on the bed, then reaching for her. "What happened? Sweetie?"

"I am all right . . ." She winced. "I just moved . . . the wrong way I think . . ."

Alarm spiked in him as he regarded her with narrowed eyes, noticing the rigid way she was holding herself. She was in pain, and just from twisting sideways.

"Is your back hurt too?"

She didn't look at him. "Yes . . ."

Abruptly thrust back into the sharp clutches of anger, he stretched his hand up and moved her hair to one side, but she latched onto his wrist.

"Adam, please don't . . ."

A muscle pulsated in his jaw as he eyed her, long and hard. Resignation fell over her features like a veil and she lowered her hand, no longer holding him back. He moved the collar of her nightgown down, revealing the purple marks around her throat and now, as he angled his head around her, he could see the bruising at the back of her neck too—disappearing down past the white fabric. He was about to pull the collar away from her nape to look down her back, wanting to know the extent of her injuries once and for all, and that's when she gripped his wrist again.

"No, you can't do that, I . . ." Faint pink rose up in her cheeks as she lowered her gaze. "This nightgown is all I am wearing . . ."

He froze. Oh.

"I'm . . . I apologize."

Damn right he apologized. What was the matter with him?!

Withdrawing his hand, he watched her anxiously, not quite sure how to act now that his temper had cooled. After a while, he risked taking her hand.

"Are, uh . . . are you all right?"

"Yes . . . it's only a few bruises," she said carefully. "Uncle Paul has already checked it."

Well, if Paul had taken a look, he knew she wasn't hiding some serious injury from them at least. But it killed him to see her in pain. He wished he could take it from her, take it upon himself instead. The last traces of tension disappeared from her forehead and she peered up at him with a touch of her old shyness.

"It must be close to supper time now . . .?"

Was it really that late? Time always seemed to move at an odd pace when he was with her.

"Yea, I guess it is," he said. "Are you hungry? I can get you something now if you want?"

"No thank you. I was just thinking . . ." She considered their linked hands. "I want to get dressed so I can go downstairs and sit with everyone for supper."

He wasn't pleased with that idea.

"I think you should stay here, it'll be more comfortable for you. No one expects you to go down and sit at the table, Madeline."

"But I would like to sit with everyone, just for a while." She rubbed his palm, slowly, the movement matching her coaxing tone. "I will take it easy, Adam. I promise . . ."

How distracting. He struggled to concentrate on the conversation. "You were dizzy earlier when you got out of bed," he reminded her.

"Yes, but I feel better now."

She apparently thought they'd agreed on it because she released his hand and began shifting on the bed to free her legs from under the covers.

Not liking this development, he stood up to give her some room. He supported his bandaged arm with his right hand, watching her as she gingerly maneuvered herself to the edge of the bed. She set the tips of her toes to the ground, pausing. When he saw her sway momentarily as her lashes drifted closed, he quickly crouched down in front of her, his voice full of concern.

"Are you sure about this? Do you need help getting dressed?"

She turned a pair of big, curious eyes on him and he realized how that sounded.

"I mean . . . well, I wasn't implying . . . not _my_ help, of course . . ."

He sprang to his feet, and before he could stop himself, his hand went to the back of his neck. "Actually . . . I don't even know _who_ would help, we're all . . . and you're . . ." He licked his lips. "You're the only . . . well, you know that."

 _Stop talking. Just stop._

There was a hint of amusement in her fascinated expression and his brain raced to find him a way out of the hole his mouth was rapidly digging for him.

"Thank you, Adam, but I'll be fine on my—"

"Paul!" he exclaimed, finger pointed down at the floor as if he were trying to communicate directly with the doctor downstairs. "He is what I wanted to say . . . if you need help I can send up him . . . Paul."

"Thank you . . ." She smiled at him. "But I'll be fine on my own."

"Oh . . . all right."

Awkward silence. _Yes, why not._

She tipped her head to the side, fondness shining in her eyes. He just stood there, staring at her, his feet stuck to the floor.

"So, I'll just . . ."

Leave the room _. Now, you fool!_

"Yea."

He spun around and made for the door with brisk strides. Never before had he been so eager to leave a room she was in. He'd just gotten to the threshold of the doorway when he paused. What if she got dizzy? What if she really was too weak to do this by herself? The thought of her keeling over and landing on the hard floor . . .

 _Damn it._

He turned around again. "Listen, I just don't want you to hurt yourself . . . you might get dizzy and fall over . . ."

Her amusement vanished, and she became serious instead. "I will be careful, I promise. Please, don't worry."

"Okay then," he relented. "But you're NOT going down the stairs alone, all right? Just holler when you're . . . you know what, I'm just gonna wait out in the hall, so let me know when you're ready." He grabbed the door handle, then added, "But don't rush, just take your time. I can wait."

"All right . . ."

"Good."

He quickly stepped out of the bedroom before he could say anything else, pulling the door closed behind him.

The hall. The quiet, deserted hall. It seemed the perfect place to address the most pressing question on his mind.

 _What . . . the hell . . . was that?_

He fell back against the door _. What did you just do?!_

Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

Staring straight ahead of himself, his sight settled on the door to Hoss' room just opposite him. He was tempted to find out whether bashing his head through the wood would be enough to knock him out. With any luck, he would wake up with no recollection of the last minute and a half of his life.

Before he could seriously consider putting his thought into action, he made the surprising discovery that the hallway was, in fact, not so deserted after all. Sensing something strange, he turned his head left and saw Paul standing at the top of the staircase, watching him, black doctor's bag in hand.

He jumped and stepped away from the door, jolting his bad arm in the process.

"Paul . . ." he said flatly, trying to hide how startled he was. "What are you doing?"

The doctor approached, every bit of him radiating suspicion. "I was going to check on Joe. Your father said his ribs were giving him some pain."

He stopped by Adam and they stood there, uncomfortably. Then Paul glanced at the closed door to Madeline's room and cracked a wide smile, looking much too delighted for Adam's taste.

"My, my . . . she finally threw you out."

Adam felt the bridge of his nose itching for him to pinch it. _Easy, take it easy._

"No, Paul she didn't throw me out. She wants to go downstairs for supper, so she's getting dressed."

The older man's smile died away. "Getting dressed? Is she all right to do that by herself? She was quite dizzy earlier . . ."

Throwing a worried glance at the door, Adam held his now burning arm close to his body. "I don't know . . . she said she would be fine, I offered to help and—"

He caught himself on the scandalized look on Paul's face.

"Just what . . . did you offer to help with . . .?"

 _Get help, offered to GET help._

He was aware that every second he remained quiet instead of clarifying that part, his situation grew more and more precarious. But the twitching vein by Paul's temple and the frenzied quality to those cutting eyes seemed to have robbed him of the ability to speak.

A door opened further down the hall and Joe stepped out, hair tousled, eyes bleary. Adam had never been more grateful for his little brother's appearance. As Joe came over, he presented them with an unmannerly yawn as he scratched his head.

"What are you standing around out here for?"

"Your brother and I are having a discussion," Paul bit out.

Out of nowhere, something in him snapped and Adam regained full use of his voice. "No, we're not because there isn't a discussion _to have_. All I said was that if she needed help getting dressed, I'd get you." He threw both hands out despite the throbbing ache in his left arm. "I just offered to get you, nothing else, okay? So for once, Paul—give me a break!"

Well, that escalated. He instantly felt bad for the outburst, but then realized that Paul was scowling at him just as harshly as before.

"Uhm . . . looks like you two could do with having this little talk alone."

Joe stepped around them and hastened down the hall. Adam couldn't blame the kid for trying to escape, but he didn't get far.

"Wait a minute," Paul called, waving him back with evident irritation. "Your father asked me to take a look at those bruised ribs."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Joe twisted back around wearing a grimace.

"It doesn't hurt very much, doc. Anyway, this thing with you and Adam seems more important than—"

"Joseph, I told your father I would check you over and I fully intend to do so. Now will you just show me this small consideration and try to be more cooperative than—" Paul gestured to Adam, like he was searching for the correct word. " _This_."

Heaving a sigh, Adam moved over to the wall next to Madeline's door. Suddenly, he really couldn't face arguing. All this wild arm movement had severely aggravated his wound and it felt like the limb was about to drop off.

Joe admitted defeat and walked back down the hall to them, grumbling as he continued towards his room. Paul made to follow him, but stopped and delivered a meaningful message to Adam first.

"This discussion isn't over."

"Whatever you say, Paul."

He just didn't care. Tipping his head back against the wall behind him, he closed his eyes. He cupped his left elbow where the bandage ended as the pain intensified. An unexpected touch to his wrist caught him off guard and his eyes opened again. Paul was right in front of him, head bowed, brow furrowed as he scrutinized the bandage. Very carefully, the doctor felt along the white cloth. Adam winced even at that but he didn't stop Paul from turning his arm over to expose the underside of it where the stitches were hidden by the bandage.

"It's not starting to feel overly warm, is it?"

"A bit warm, but no more than it has been."

With a curt nod, the doctor let go of his arm. "You have to tell me if that changes. And I'll need to look at it soon."

He then set off down the hall towards Joe's room, leaving Adam standing there, watching him go.

Paul could definitely be a hard one to figure sometimes. Adam had known him for more than half of his life and the doctor had always been a close friend, but also a sort of secondary authority figure to him. And now, if things went the way he hoped they would, Paul would practically be his father-in-law. A slightly unnerving thought with the way things were at present.

He leaned back against the wall again, hoping the pain would go down soon. In a minute, Madeline would need his help getting down the stairs.

He imagined her fingers running through his hair again as he waited for her to get ready. It would be the same thing he thought about later on when his weary body would eventually demand sleep. Maybe, just maybe, his dreams tonight would be of her and her soft touches rather than of loss, despair and death.

xXXx


	36. Chapter 36

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hi guys!_

 _First, thank you all for the delightful reviews on the last chapter! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to write something for me about what you thought of the read :)_

 _I enjoyed hearing your thoughts on Paul! And those of you wondering about his behavior, I hope things will make sense once you read the next part._

 _It is a challenge, but I try to keep these characters as realistic as possible. They are lovable yet flawed people, which only makes them more interesting, and I strive to write their emotions honestly and with the heart and depth I feel they deserve. I've tried to convey some of that in these next two chapters. They took an enormous amount of re-writing, so I'm a little nervous now to hear what you think, but I hope you enjoy it._

 _This is sort of a Christmas special so yes, I'm posting TWO LONG chapters :) The next one will be up in a couple of hours. I've tried to fit in a bit of everything, some humor to go with the drama, brotherly banter and a bit of tender romance._

 _Thanks to all of you for the wonderful support and patience you're showing me at the moment. Happy holidays and I wish you all the best! :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 36**

It was his third day at the Ponderosa and Paul Martin was a frustrated man. So frustrated, as a matter of fact, that he'd felt it necessary to retreat to the quiet of the sitting room where he was currently suffering a headache of monstrous proportions. While the doctor had gotten used to dealing with a sick or injured Cartwright over the years, it was quite something else dealing with three of them at the same time.

When he'd checked Joe's ribs the previous evening, he'd been appalled to discover that the bruising was much worse than the young man had let on. His firm order of bed-rest had, as expected, fallen on deaf ears. At this very moment, Joe was out in the barn, tending to his horse because he insisted that Cochise _missed_ him. Hoss was a little better off but still downplayed his own aches and sores to avoid adding to their father's worries. He'd gone with Joe outside to get some fresh air which Paul had gone along with after emphasizing that barn chores were off limits. And then lastly, of course, there was Adam. Being his usual exasperating self. Pretending he was fine and giving little to nothing away about how much pain he was in. But the doctor had caught onto the subtle winces he sometimes made when he drew in deep breaths or moved too suddenly, which suggested that his bad arm was not the only thing ailing him. Now, that was one conversation Paul did not look forward to having. Especially since the two of them hadn't actually spoken civilly with each other today.

He understood perfectly well why Ben's hair had already turned white as snow despite the old friends being almost the same age. He was convinced that by the time his stay at the Ponderosa was over—there would be a few more grey hairs on his own head.

Between fretting over those three boys, tending to Madeline, and then chaperoning to keep a certain dark Cartwright in check, he'd barely had a minute to himself. It was only early that morning, that he'd finally taken the time to inspect his own injury. He had changed the bandage around his head for the first time in two days and found that the gash across the top of his brow was healing nicely. Although that was a relief, the sharp pounding threatening to split his skull open only seemed to be getting worse.

His greatest comfort right now, was that Madeline appeared to be doing much better. It had been good for her, joining in at the table for supper yesterday and she hadn't seemed dizzy or too tired. This morning, she'd been down for breakfast with everyone and the same with lunch. Paul doubted that she'd agree to take her supper in her room. Since she was feeling better, they would probably be able to go home in a few days. As far as he was concerned, it wouldn't be a moment too soon. For one thing, this situation with Adam was getting out of control and he had no idea what to do about it. Every time he entered Madeline's room, Adam made him feel as welcome as Texas fever on a cattle drive and Paul responded by firing off verbal barbs that somehow got more and more spiteful. The usually good-natured banter they'd always had going was now bordering on acrimony and even when he regretted saying something particularly harsh, he just couldn't stop himself from delivering his next jibe to whatever Adam retorted with. It was a never-ending circle of glares, awkward silences and remarks that were getting to be too severe to pass for playful. And it was clearly starting to upset Madeline, though she hadn't said anything directly about it.

Another reason for wanting to return home soon was the fact that he knew he was needed in Virginia City. Guilt was stirring up a storm within him as he kept thinking about all the house-calls he should have been making these last three days. It unfortunately affected a lot of people when he was unavailable because there was such a shortage of doctors around these parts as it was. Accidents happened, people constantly became ill and Paul knew better than anyone how important it was that he got to his patients at the right time. It didn't sit well with him at all, that he'd left town so suddenly and without warning. And after he'd only just gotten back from his trip to San Francisco. But he'd prioritized Madeline and her health—a decision he would never regret making. She came before everything else—even his work—that was just the way things were now.

Yet it still bothered him that as long as he was staying at the Ponderosa, he couldn't do anything for the people who needed him in town. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

To feel a little bit productive at least—and to get another break from Adam—he'd decided to look at some paperwork in the peace and quiet of the sitting room.

He'd taken up position in the blue chair where he sat hunched over his journal, writing away. There were few things more relaxing to the doctor than hearing the sound of led scratching across paper as he captured his thoughts and watched them materialize on blank pages. So far, he'd mostly been doing preparation work to make things go as smoothly as possible when he eventually returned to Virginia City. He'd read up on a few patients and made a list of the people he needed to see first once he got back home. At least then he would have a plan and hopefully it would save him some time when he went around doing his house-calls. Every little thing he could do now made him feel better and he also wrote a list of the medicines and powders he remembered would need restocking in his practice soon. Having even the smallest details written down seemed to restore some order in his mind.

He was making good progress right up until the muffled sound of a high-pitched cackle could be heard from the porch outside. All of a sudden, the front door swung open and Joe's laughter doubled as Hoss limped into the house, straws of hay dropping off behind him with each step he took.

"Dadgummit little Joe, it weren't that funny . . ." he grunted, wincing as he brushed dirt off his shirtfront.

"Oh, oh-o, yes it was!"

Red-faced, Joe threw the door shut behind them, holding his stomach as he continued to laugh.

His work forgotten for the moment, Paul studied the two Cartwrights warily. "Do I even want to know?"

The brothers froze and when Joe spotted the doctor in the chair, he quickly stepped around Hoss, sporting a wide grin.

"Doc, you should've seen it!"

"Joe, I very much doubt I would have wanted to witness whatever—"

"Hoss just got bushwhacked by a cat out in the barn!"

Paul's gaze shifted from one brother to the other as he laid his pencil on a page and closed the journal around it. Unhurriedly, he crossed his legs, folded his hands over his vest and leaned back.

"I beg your pardon?"

Joe nodded vigorously. "I'm telling you, a cat just jumped down from the hayloft and landed smack on big brother's hard head and he . . . he—" The words dissolved into a laughing fit and Joe almost doubled over as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Dadburnit, I was just tryin' to get up there, so I could help the little fella down," Hoss mumbled, jamming his fists into his pockets.

It was then Paul noticed the newest addition to the numerous cuts and bruises on his face—three bright-red scratches on his left cheek.

"The tiny thing knocked him clean over!" Joe swept a hand through the air for added illustration and he gasped as though he was choking. "I swear, the whole barn shook when he landed, I thought it was about to come down on top of us!"

The young man grabbed at the settee to steady himself and Paul looked back at Hoss who was toeing some imaginary line along the floor with the tip of his boot.

"Poor little critter just got startled is all."

"You just count yourself lucky that _poor little critter_ didn't finish you off," Paul scolded. "It's quite one thing going out for a breath of fresh air, but to start climbing up into haylofts in your current state is just absolutely—"

"Aow! Ow," Joe exclaimed through a giggle, grimacing as he clutched his injured ribs. "Oh, oh God . . ."

The doctor closed his eyes in a bid to summon control. It was difficult indeed, when so many things seemed to be conspiring to agitate him at once. He eventually opened his journal again and continued where he'd left off. Perhaps, if he simply pretended the brothers weren't present, they would be less irritating to him.

Joe's amusement was effectively quashed by his pain and he settled down on the settee, still holding his side while Hoss stood around, gingerly poking at his swelling cheek. Paul had managed to add a whole three sentences to the page when Joe spoke up, breaking his imaginary solitude.

"Hey, where's Pa?"

"He's out in the bunkhouse talking to some hands," the doctor muttered as he struggled to latch onto whatever he'd intended to write next. "I'm rather surprised he wasn't alerted to your escapades. It sounds as though you two made quite a ruckus."

To his great relief, that reply seemed to satisfy and silence Joe. He collected his thoughts and continued writing. Not even ten seconds had gone by when he sensed Hoss approach.

"Hey, what's that yur writin' there, Doc?"

"It's the journal I use to keep track of my patients," Paul said, not looking up. "Their medical history, medicines and treatment I've given. All those things."

"Huh." Joe commented. He inched further to the edge of the settee, his one good eye fixed on the journal. "You uh, you got something in there about me?"

The pencil finally went limp in Paul's hand and he spoke slowly, inserting a dramatic tone to his voice. "It grieves me to say that I have a whole chapter on you, Joe."

Several expressions battled for control of Joe's face and he didn't seem to know whether he was proud or offended.

With a big grin, Hoss perched on the armrest of the settee. "What about ol' Adam? You got him too?"

"Hmpf. I have many pages about your older brother in here, yes."

"Yea, I reckon you must have at that." Glancing about the room, Hoss asked, "Where's he at anyway?"

"He's upstairs with Madeline, of course. Where else would he be," Paul mumbled the last bit to himself as he closed the journal for good and stretched out of his chair to place it on the table. "I make an appearance every now and again to ensure he doesn't go and get any ideas."

Joe shot a sly wink at Hoss. He held a hand by the side of his mouth as if that would prevent his words from reaching the doctor sitting right in front of him. "I'll bet older brother already has plenty of idea—"

Paul's head jerked towards him. "What was that?"

Joe swiftly dropped his hand. "I just meant that . . . you know, it's—" He stumbled over his own tongue and glanced at his sibling who, mercifully, came to his aid.

"Come on Doc," Hoss said in his most appeasing manner, "he's just sayin' what all of us kin pretty much see anyway with them two and the way things are heading to—"

"Yes, well I suggest we all calm ourselves," Paul cut in as he patted the air around him with both hands. "Calm right down. This is no time for your speculations or for . . . well, hastiness or rash decisions. And as for _him_ "—the doctor poked a finger at the top of the staircase to indicate Adam's direction—" _he_ could do with a few minutes outside of that room, so the next time you two get bored, I think you should invite him along and all of you can take a leisurely stroll around the yard—no haylofts! Some fresh air might help cool him off a bit and he could certainly use it." In the throes of irritation, Paul shook his head which only reinforced his fierce headache. "It's beyond me why he has to be so . . . I mean, she's barely recovered and he's smothering her with attention! He literally doesn't leave her side!"

The lengthy rant rendered both brothers momentarily mute. Again, Hoss tried the placating approach. "I understand what yur sayin' about him spendin' a lotta time with her and all but as far as I can tell, Miss Madeline don't seem to mind it."

"She sure doesn't," Joe added.

"Well no, obviously she doesn't because—" Paul made a dismissive noise. "Anyway, that's not the point, it—"

He was interrupted when the house seemed to explode with activity all at once. The front door opened, allowing Ben entrance just as Adam and Madeline emerged at the top of the stairs. Ben's face brightened at the sight of everyone and he made some comment about the weather getting chillier, but Paul wasn't listening. His primary concern was his niece. He stood up and watched her come down the stairs as Adam kept one arm circled protectively around her waist.

She was wearing her favorite checkered-blue skirt and a white blouse—her hair falling in perfect waves about her while a faint smile shaped her lips. Paul searched for any signs of pain or dizziness as she moved, but there were none that he could see. When the two reached the landing, Adam stopped and leaned in close to her, making her pause. Her smile grew tenfold while he spoke in her ear and when she turned to look at him, Paul saw that her eyes were alight with that special something she reserved only for Adam.

Massaging his left temple, the doctor went back to the blue chair and lowered himself into it again. He sat quietly, wishing his headache would go down when in reality, he knew there was little chance of it. A short moment later, Adam and Madeline came over to the sitting area and Ben stepped forward to take her hand as he studied her with concern.

"How are you, dear? Should you be up again so soon?"

"I feel fine, thank you," she said lightly and Paul, watching from his chair, noted that Adam still had his arm around her even though she seemed quite capable of standing by herself.

"Here, Madeline," Joe said, patting the settee as he scooted over to make room, "you can sit here."

A warm smile spread across her face. "Thank you, Joe."

She took a seat and Adam made to sit down next to her when a glance at Hoss halted him. He straightened and squinted at his brother's reddened cheek. Hoss shifted from one foot to the other as he peered at some particular point over Adam's shoulder.

"Well, what happened to you?"

"Dang it, nothin' happened," Hoss said, aiming a warning look at Joe who already had a hand clamped over his mouth.

Paul almost groaned audibly when Ben adopted that disapproving, worried-father-expression as he took stock of his youngest sons. Then, when Adam casually reached out to pluck a straw of hay from Hoss' shirt collar—the last straw as it turned out—Joe burst out laughing and immediately grabbed his ribs.

Everyone looked confused except for Hoss and Paul, and the doctor decided it was up to him to change the subject. Partly to spare Joe from more pain but mostly because he simply didn't want to hear that dreadful story once again.

"My Belle," he suddenly said, capturing everybody's attention, "I thought we agreed that you were going to rest in bed until supper?"

It took Madeline a second to catch up with the abrupt shift in conversation, but perceptive as she was, she quickly realized her uncle's intent.

"Yes, I know Uncle, but since I was feeling so well, I thought it was a shame to waste the afternoon away in bed."

"Restless," Adam remarked, eyeing her meaningfully as he sat down next to her. "You were too restless to stay in bed."

Her serene expression didn't waver as she met his eyes and the glint of challenge there. "Perhaps I might have seemed slightly _restless_ as you say, Adam. But I do feel much more at peace down here with everyone."

She turned to look at the other three Cartwrights, flashing them her most dazzling smile.

Hoss responded with a grin that showed off the charismatic gap between his front teeth. "We're real glad to have you with us too, Ma'am. You sure are . . ." He ducked his head bashfully. "What I mean is, your company, it sort of—"

"Sort of lightens things up around here," Joe finished charmingly, and Madeline regarded them both with fondness.

"While that's certainly true, we wouldn't want you to overtax yourself," Ben said while walking over to sit in his red wing-chair. "Doing too much too soon is always the surest way of getting ill again." His firm gaze drifted over each of his sons without stopping. "Believe me, I've seen it happen many times."

"Unfortunately, as have I," Paul intoned somberly from his seat. He nodded his niece's direction. "You really do need to be careful not to overdo things, Madeline . . ."

"I promise I will take it easy," she assured them. "It's just nice to be down here with you all." She lifted her hand to her mouth and very delicately cleared her throat. "I also thought that since I'm dressed and feeling fine, I might . . ." Her voice grew quieter by the word. "Well, I might lend Hop Sing a hand in the kitchen at some point."

There was a silence as she cast a sidelong glance at Adam. A pleasant smile appeared on his face, but his tone carried an undercurrent of exasperation.

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"Oh, Adam." Her lips quirked sweetly and she took his good hand. "I am perfectly all right. You really need to stop worrying so much. I just want to help out a bit, there's no harm in it."

He sighed. "Listen Madeline—"

"You are getting to be just as bad as Uncle Paul, you know."

Adam looked appalled and Paul held up a finger. "Ah, excuse me—"

"All right," Ben broke in, clearly amused by the scene. "Now, I have to say that I doubt Hop Sing will let you do anything in the kitchen." Madeline's face fell, so he swiftly went on, "For now, at least. But there is something you could help _me_ with." Her curiosity piqued, she sat up straighter and he asked. "Do you know the card game Whist?"

She frowned. "I've heard of it, but I haven't ever played it before."

"That doesn't matter, it's quite easy to learn. Earlier, Hoss, Joe and I tried to have a game, but it really does require four players in two pairs. And for some reason, those two"—he gestured to his two boys—"would rather team up with each other than with me. So, you see, I'm in need of a partner and I can't think of a lovelier one than you."

"That's a great idea!" Joe said, beaming at her. "What do you say, Madeline?"

Gradually, Madeline's smile returned as she swept her eyes first over Ben, then Hoss, then Joe.

"Oh, all right!"

Ben grinned. "Wonderful!"

Visibly excited, Hoss and Joe were off to the kitchen to get a fresh batch of coffee for them and a pot of tea for Madeline. Ben went to get the cards and on his way around the settee, he passed a knowing look to Paul who easily caught it. After witnessing that whole exchange, the doctor had been expecting it. He knew his old friend too well.

As much as he really didn't want to do this, he had to agree with Ben—it was high time. He chanced a subtle glimpse at Adam to gauge the younger man's current mood, but his attempt at discretion turned out to be superfluous. Adam was already watching him and the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Undaunted, Paul lifted himself out of his chair in a smooth movement.

"Well then," he said, folding his hands behind his back. "Since everyone else is busy playing that little game, I think this is quite the perfect opportunity for me to take a look at your arm, wouldn't you say?"

Hardly surprising, Adam didn't appear to share that opinion. His objection came in the form of one lengthy, unblinking stare which Paul met with a calm mien.

Noticing the silent standoff, Madeline glanced back and forth between the two, her brow rippled with worry. She gently placed her hand over Adam's. When he didn't react to it, she spoke his name softly.

"Adam . . ."

That made him turn to face her. Whatever magic Madeline possessed in that single look, Paul was fascinated in spite of himself to see her cast it over his ornery friend. The effect she had on him truly was remarkable. She stroked his hand once when his eyes dropped from hers in surrender, then she let go. With a significant amount of reluctance, Adam pushed himself up from the settee and Paul extended an arm towards the staircase as he exaggerated a bow.

"After you, lad."

Unamused, Adam walked past him, demonstrating as much enthusiasm as a man heading for the gallows. The doctor stayed back for a moment, saw his chance and leaped at it. He perched on the table in front of Madeline as she watched Adam climb the stairs.

"Should I go with you?" she asked, uncertain. "Perhaps I can help?"

"Hmm? Oh, no no, there's no need for that. I'm just checking the stitches and changing the bandage. He'll be fine. I errm, I just thought that maybe you'd like to have a game of chess with your old uncle later on." He hesitated and tugged at his earlobe. "Just ah, the two of us. Like we used to . . ."

She finally focused on him, affection pouring out of her green pools. "I would like that very much, Uncle Paul. It's been ages since we played. How about after supper?"

"That would—yes I . . ." Paul could hardly speak through the huge smile splitting his face in half. "Yes, that sounds wonderful." Nodding, he stood up. "Very good. Well, I better go see to him then."

He'd barely taken two steps away when she called him.

"Uncle Paul?"

He spun back around. "Yes?"

"Don't be too hard on him. Please . . ."

His mouth opened, ready to deliver one of his customary flippant responses, but something in her soft gaze stopped him. Instead, he just dipped his chin once. Then, he spun on his heel and headed for the staircase.

xXXx

The thumping ache in his head seemed to echo off the walls as Paul made his way down the hall, carrying his bag. He arrived at the doorway to Adam's bedroom where he stopped on the threshold and looked around himself. The last time he'd been in this room, the place had been a shamble. Clothes had littered most of the floor and every piece of furniture had seemed packed with clutter. Bottles and letters. The reek of liquor had been so powerful, he could almost sense it lingering still. Now, everything was picked up and back in order. Neat and tidy. He glanced at the desk, remembering how he'd found Adam there the last time he'd walked in here. Slumped in the chair, staring up at the ceiling, unrecognizable. At his absolute lowest point. It was an image that would forever be imprinted in the doctor's mind.

This time, Adam wasn't sitting at the desk, but standing by the window. Leaning against the wall and holding his left arm close to his body, he gazed out through the glass, his profile silhouetted by the grey light pouring in from outside. He didn't look well. His skin was still a sickly pale and at that particular angle, the shadows under his eyes were more prominent. Standing sideways like that, Paul also noted that he could do with about a week's worth of substantial meals.

When was the last time Adam had looked fit and healthy? The doctor honestly couldn't remember. What he did remember all of a sudden, was the fourteen-year-old boy with dark curls and sharp, intelligent eyes whom Ben Cartwright had brought into his office one day many years ago. Stoic even then, and despite three broken fingers, he'd barely flinched as Paul tended to the injury. Afterwards, the lad had even smiled—that trademark half-smile— and thanked him. And just like that, they'd taken to each other. It might have seemed an unlikely friendship, but Paul had found true enjoyment in his talks with the youngster who acted so much older than his years and who had such a passion for books and learning. Perhaps he was intrigued because those were rare qualities to find in young people living out in the rough, new country of the frontier. Or perhaps, because Adam had reminded Paul of himself when he was that age.

Being a close friend of Ben, Paul had had the pleasure, and at times frustration, of watching all three Cartwright sons grow up—much like Sheriff Roy Coffee had. At one point, it had been almost common for little Joe to be playing by his feet under his desk as he worked until either Ben or Adam collected the boy after doing errands in town. There had been a time where he often brought some sticky confectionery with him for Hoss and Joe, and a book for Adam when he visited the Ponderosa ranch. Although all of that was long ago, it seemed like only yesterday to him. Time had strange ways of playing tricks on an old mind.

He'd watched the curious youngster he'd become so fond of grow into this exasperating, self-possessed—too stubborn for his own good—young man standing before him now. A fine man. One whose character had darkened with the misfortune that had followed him as a steady companion throughout his life. A man whose inner torment apparently went much, much deeper than any outward pain he might display in the rare moments his composure faltered. Up until a week ago, Paul had known nothing of the extent of his friend's private troubles. But that had all changed. He had seen Adam not in a new light, but in a new, startling darkness. It disturbed him, deeply, and even more so because he was well aware of how his niece fitted into it all. How important she was to both of them.

While he didn't want to be, Paul _was_ frustrated with Adam. And while he didn't want to have to worry about a person he was frustrated with, he _did_. That worry was the reason he was standing here with his black bag, ready to give the care he at least knew how to give. But the fact was that even when they got along with each other, Adam barely accepted his help. Given how strained things had been between them the last few days, Paul couldn't see this going well at all. But for Madeline's sake, he would make the effort.

He breathed in, his lungs filling with air and his heart with resolve. Then he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He coughed politely to announce his arrival. Adam remained completely unmoving. In all fairness, Paul couldn't know for sure whether the young man was really lost in thought or purposely disregarding him. But frankly, he would put his money on the latter.

 _Don't be too hard on him_. That's what Madeline had said.

Well, this would be interesting.

Paul walked across the floor, conscious of how the tap of his shoes resonated in every inch of the room. He stopped by the bed and waited patiently.

Nothing.

Now assured that he was indeed being ignored, he ruled that a more direct approach was in order.

"Well, I'm ready whenever you're finished admiring the yard."

At first, there was no reaction. Then slowly, Adam turned his head and pinned the doctor with a glare that should have scorched his grey eyebrows and a good inch of his receding hairline. It had no effect. Displaying impeccable calm, Paul went to the night table and set down his bag, hearing trudging steps behind him. As he twisted around, he saw Adam undoing the buttons by his cuff to roll up his sleeve.

"Remove your shirt." He made himself add, "Please."

Adam stopped with the sleeve, his brows lowering with suspicion. "What for? You said you wanted to look at my arm."

"I do want to look at your arm. I also want to see whatever it is you're hiding under that shirt because I suspect it's what you keep wincing about when you think no one notices."

Taking the defensive, Adam made to cross his arms but seemed to realize he couldn't do that without inflicting more pain on himself, so he just let them fall to his sides.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I highly doubt that." Paul inclined his head at the shirt. "Come on, off with it."

That drew a groan from the younger man who looked like a person might if they were being forced to converse with an old goat.

"Paul, it's just a couple of bruises from the fighting."

"How splendid. You won't mind if I take a look then."

As it so often happened when they communicated these days, they spent a tense silence each trying to out-stare the other. Paul was not about to back down on this one, but he did decide to change tactics. He was, after all, a practical man.

"Listen here, the sooner you do as I tell you, the sooner you can go back downstairs."

Ah, the _promise and reward strategy_. A personal favorite of his and one he typically turned to whenever he found himself faced with reluctant patients. In all his years of doctoring it had never failed and it worked well with children especially. It seemed that the prospect of fishing a wrapped sweet out of the candy-crammed glass jar on his desk was sufficient incentive to sit still and behave. Except he wasn't dealing with a child now, but a very grown, very pigheaded man. And the reward, in this case, was not a sugary treat, but his very own niece. He tried not to think too much about that part.

Adam was still weighing his answer, his jaw working furiously. Paul tilted his head.

"Okay, fine!"

Grumbling under his breath—something unfavorable no doubt—Adam sat down on the bed and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was obviously a struggle for him with his left hand, but the doctor had the sense that any offer of help would be unwelcome. With jerky movements, he worked the buttons one by one and in his evident agitation, he fumbled even more with them than he probably would have otherwise done. When he was ready to shrug out of the shirt, Paul did move in to free his injured arm as carefully as possible and while the assistance probably wasn't appreciated, it wasn't rejected either.

Almost instantly, Paul realized that he might have made a mistake. With the shirt gone, it struck him that he hadn't actually seen Adam without one for a long time. More than four years. Even as he was comprehending that fact, he recognized that his friend might have been reluctant to shed the item for other reasons than he'd initially thought. What drew his attention first was the even, four-inch scar running along the curve of Adam's left bicep, which he immediately knew had been caused by either a sword or knife. He only needed to look at it for another two seconds to be sure of the sword. Swiftly, he redirected his gaze and found an array of dark contusions across Adam's chest and stomach, just as expected. Only, his eyes passed right over the bruises and settled on a circular, pale pink scar. The mark of a bullet wound. As a doctor, Paul had seen plenty of scars in his time and ones much grimmer than these. But seeing such marks on _Adam_ hit him with peculiar force and he felt his throat go dry.

To make matters worse, it became clear to him that Adam was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He sat ramrod-straight on the bed, the muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension that rolled off him in waves. His face was rigid with a simmering anger that seemed less and less likely to remain in its suppressed state as he stared a hole into the wall opposite him. Gone was that calm exterior and instead, he'd taken on the look of a predator caught in a trap, held against its will.

Remaining outwardly unfazed, Paul finally reached out to begin his examination. But he knew the damage had already been done because he'd hesitated too long. Standing in front of his patient, he trailed his hands lightly along the left side of Adam's rib-cage. Every few seconds, his scrutiny returned to the little, round scar because he just couldn't help it. Eventually, he decided that anything would be better than this current constrained silence.

"A couple of new ones here, Adam," he said softly.

"Well, I went to war, Paul," came the biting response.

For once, the doctor was lost for words.

Effortlessly, it seemed, Adam schooled his expression into impassiveness as he looked ahead of himself with half-lidded eyes. At length, he spoke in a voice so flat, he might have been commenting on the weather.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

It was quite possibly the least heartfelt apology Paul had ever received in his life, so he had no trouble shrugging it off.

"Pffff, no need. I'm used to your abuse." He nudged his shoulder. "Lean forward a bit."

Feeling along his lower ribs, Paul searched for any signs of broken bones. He soon spotted the scar on Adam's back, bigger and slightly jagged in comparison to the one on his front, which told the doctor that this was the exit wound of the bullet.

"It went straight through then," he remarked.

"Mmh. Probably would've killed me if it hadn't." Adam's voice dropped as he added, "Almost did anyway."

Paul paused his examination. Those last three words had fallen on an odd note; one that broke through the reserved demeanor Adam normally displayed when a conversation took a personal turn.

"Infection?"

"Yea."

He glanced down at the scar again.

"It must have been bad . . ."

"As bad as it gets I reckon."

Resuming his probing, Paul kept his manner casual. "Some high power must've been very determined to keep you alive then."

"Mm-hmm, that would be Pip."

His hands went still again. "Pip? As in Phillip?"

"Yes, our medic." Adam angled his head to see the doctor. "You know, I think you'd like him. He's sort of what I imagine you must've been like." A little smirk materialized to go with the twinkle suddenly playing in his eye. "Before you got old and cantankerous, that is."

Paul feigned outrage. "Well, if the poor man put up with you for four years, he most certainly has my deepest admiration and respect. And sympathy, I might add."

They both smiled slightly. The first genuine smiles they'd exchanged in days. At that instant, Paul found it surprisingly easy to slip back into the friendly banter they'd shared for so many years. Continuing his work, he moved over to the top of Adam's right side. He gently touched one particularly bruised spot which elicited a wince, but he felt nothing broken. It might just be that Adam had been truthful for once and that bruises were all he would find. Involuntarily, his gaze went back to the jagged scar and stuck there. A gunshot in that location, and then infection. Thinking about it sent a chill down his spine. He knew exactly what such a wound meant and how slim the odds of surviving it were.

While the war had raged, he'd heard and read the most gruesome things about what had transpired in the improvised infirmaries that had been set up on the fields of battle. He'd read of the lack of medicines, the extensive spread of diseases and the horrifying conditions under which doctors and nurses had been forced to work. The inconceivable, tragic death tolls. It was startling to think that Adam had seen all that— _lived_ through all of that. Since his return home, he'd been closed off about most things relating to the war, especially this particular aspect of it and Paul now understood why. He'd not only lived through it but barely survived it.

Paul's dark pondering came to a grinding halt when he realized that his friend had gone completely still under his hands.

"Pip stuck with me through it," Adam suddenly mumbled. His eyes were distant now, glazed over, fixed on the wall ahead of him like they were seeing far beyond it and straight into another world. "I was too out of it to know what was going on, but I found out later that in all the chaos, I had been taken out to the section with the Hopeless. If you ended up there . . . that was it. But my friend Jim stepped in. He and the boys, Pip, Henry, Smiles . . . that's all I remember from that time. Them talking to me, keeping me alive."

There were memories in his voice, lost friends in that voice. Paul could almost envision them in his own mind. With feeling, he said, "They sound like a very fine group of men."

Adam gave a slow nod, and his head stayed down. After a second, he blinked and abruptly straightened his posture.

"Are you about done with your prodding and poking? I'd like to get this over with."

Without looking up, he rolled his shoulders as if attempting to shrug off some invisible, unpleasant weight. Paul suspected that his sudden discomfort had more to do with the conversation than the examination.

Deciding to give him some space, Paul stepped away. "All right, you can put your shirt back on." He went over to the night table where his bag stood. "I feel nothing broken, so it would seem it's only the bruises."

"Just like I told you," Adam said briskly, one arm already in a sleeve.

Paul spoke without turning around. "I sincerely apologize for showing concern for your health."

The remorse was palpable as Adam fell quiet. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't bother," the doctor cut across him, rummaging through his bag. "How much sleep are you getting?"

There was a long pause. "It's fine . . ."

"It was really a very simple question so let's try that again, shall we?" He half-turned, sounding harsher than he intended to. "How much sleep are you getting?"

To his credit, Adam calmed his own tone as he carefully maneuvered his bad arm into the other sleeve. "I did sleep a bit more last night, but it only seemed to make me more tired."

"That makes sense." Pulling a new, rolled-up strip of gauze from his bag, Paul walked to the chair over by the desk. "You've been living on barely any food and rest for quite a while so you'll feel tired until your body catches up. It'll take time. Especially if you don't follow my advice, which as usual, you probably won't."

He dragged the chair back to the bed and sat. As he placed the fresh gauze on the mattress next to Adam, he noticed that he had left his shirt to hang open.

"Would you like some help with the buttons?"

"No. I just want you to get on with this."

"Fine then. Let's have a look."

Paul reached for his arm and went about unwrapping the bandage, starting by his elbow. Despite doing it with as much care as he could, Adam's appearance paled further, and his jaw clenched so tightly, Paul worried something might snap out of place.

"Blast it, you've been lucky with this," he mumbled as he peeled the cloth away and got a look at the wound. He dropped the bandage to the floor, studying his work. "The stitches have held very well. You might have a scar, but I don't think it will be too noticeable." Considering the arm thoughtfully, he brushed his fingers lightly against the skin right next to the wound just to make sure it didn't feel too warm. Adam flinched which caused surprise as well as dismay with Paul. He looked up, his worry increasing when he realized the pain his examination was causing.

"I spoke to Hop Sing earlier about a special salve he can make," he said. "I really think we should try it. It has a soothing effect."

"No, I . . . I don't want anything on it."

The words sounded labored, like he was out of breath and Adam's chin assumed a stubborn set.

"Listen Adam," Paul said with a patience he really wasn't feeling, "so far you've refused to take anything for the pain and because of your reasoning, I haven't pushed. But this would be perfectly harmless, and if you could only get past your own bullheadedness, it might actually help you."

"I can handle the pain."

The doctor's cheeks inflated, and he blew out an extended breath. This was turning out to be even more unpleasant than he'd thought it would be. A lot more. He rubbed his forehead where the dull ache seemed to be spiking again and he contemplated whether or not he possessed the strength needed to go up against his patient's obstinacy.

"How's your head?" Adam asked.

Even though he heard the genuine care in the question, Paul replied with a snap. "There's nothing wrong with my head, and don't change the subject."

Adam's face hardened and he spoke in a tone twisted with sarcasm. "Well, I sincerely apologize for showing concern for—"

"All right! You've made your point."

Both were quiet. Until Adam shifted, the bed squeaking under his weight.

"Look, I just don't want to put anything on it. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

"Fine, be in pain then," Paul said, slipping on a mask of apathy to cover the hurt he was feeling at having his help rejected once again. He picked up the bandage-roll from the bed. "I don't even know why I bother with you," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The sharpened, cold edge in Adam's voice broke something loose in Paul. "What do you think it means? Here I am, wasting my time attempting to tend to you and you're fighting me every step of the way! Not to mention, we wouldn't even be here—you wouldn't even have this injury if not for _your_ own irresponsible foolishness and—" he caught himself just in time before finishing on the words _reckless drunkenness._

"And what, Paul?" Adam shot out.

"Leave it, Adam."

Paul focused on the bandage, fighting to regain his composure before it slipped completely.

"No, finish what you were gonna say," Adam demanded.

"I will not."

"Just say it!"

Dropping his hands to his lap, Paul's head snapped up. "No. Because given the current circumstances, it would be an insensitive thing to say to you."

"So, now you're suddenly concerned with being insensitive?" Adam almost smiled, a trace of sour amusement in his otherwise hostile demeanor. "Well, don't do me any favors. It's not like I don't know what you meant anyway."

"Thunderation!" Irked beyond his limits, Paul let out a growl. "You know, Madeline asked me not to be too hard on you, but you're making it exceedingly difficult!"

Something flashed beneath the blazing fire in Adam's eyes and he quickly dropped his chin.

Puzzled, Paul's own anger abated as he studied him. "What?"

"She asked the same thing of me . . ."

A tightness developed somewhere in Paul's chest and he harrumphed. "Well then . . ."

"Paul, this is—" Adam stopped speaking. He shifted to sit on the very edge of the bed, his face earnest now, the anger gone. "We can't keep doing this. We _need_ to call some kind of truce, for Madeline's sake at least. With the two of us bickering all the time and her caught in the middle, it's going to end with her getting really upset and . . . I don't want that."

"Obviously I don't want that either," Paul huffed, fidgeting with the gauze in his hands. "She's _my_ niece after all. And I've known her a whole lot longer than you."

His lips tightening, Adam flared his nostrils. "I'm aware of that. I'm just saying that we need to try to do what's best for her and since we're both a part of—"

"I think you'll find that _I_ know very well what's best for her."

To Paul's astonishment, Adam suddenly jerked to his feet. " _You_ know what's best for her and you just have to point out that I'm not _it_ every chance you get, don't you?"

For a couple of seconds, Paul just stared up at him, stunned. "I've . . . said nothing of the kind. Now settle down before you go and hurt—"

"Do you think I don't realize what's going on? Do you think I don't know what you're trying to do with those glowering looks you give me all the time and the little sharp comments you keep firing away at me in front of Madeline?" The question dangled in the air, but Paul didn't even get a word out before Adam went on, "You're trying to push me away from her and I'm tired of it! I know what _you_ think of me, but it's what she thinks that matters."

Shaking free of his surprise, Paul gave a mocking snort as he sat back in his chair, tipping his head up to maintain their searing eye-contact. "So, tell me _lad_ , what do I think of you?"

"Oh, come on, Paul!" Adam snapped, flinging his hands up. "I know you think I'm not good enough for her and you're right, okay? You're right!" His face was getting flushed, his eyes glittering with resentment and bitterness. "I'm far from perfect, you saw it yourself. I was out of my head—I did and said things I shouldn't have, and I wish to God you hadn't been there to witness it! But you were, and I can't change that now. I can't do a damn thing about it!"

Paul gaped at him. "That's—that is _not_ it, I don't—" He abruptly slammed his mouth shut to gather control. "You're wrong."

That seemed to throw Adam and he hesitated. "What?"

Through gritted teeth, Paul repeated. "You're _wrong_ about that."

In a pause, Adam raked a hand through his hair, his shoulders lowering a fraction. "Then what? Then explain to me why you're acting so . . ." He trailed off, waiting.

Not trusting himself to speak, Paul said nothing, keeping his face hard as stone. Adam jerked his arms up and spread them wide, palms up. "You don't trust me, is that it? _What_? You don't think I'm capable of taking care of her?"

"I'm not going to have this discussion with you." His calm crumbling all around him, Paul waved angrily at the bed. "Sit down."

"It's really come to that then," Adam said bitterly, voice rising. "I made a mistake— _a mistake_ —and you're just gonna keep punishing me for it because you're too damn stubborn to—"

"ENOUGH, Adam!" Paul barked, blood roaring in his ears as he felt something troubling building in himself.

"Why can't you understand that I would do _anything_ for her? What's it gonna take for me to gain the trust I need to—"

"For God's sake man!" Paul exploded out of his chair. "There's no one in this world whom I trust more to take care of her than you!"

The words hung in the room, between them. Now it was Adam who looked stunned. His eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. Slowly, very slowly, his anger seeped away, and confusion took its place.

"Then why are you—"

"We're not discussing this now." Paul said, his voice coming precariously close to cracking. He jerked a finger at the bed. "Sit down."

"Paul—"

"Sit. Down." He swallowed, thickly, but a lump seemed stuck. "Or I'll leave this room. Hop Sing can deal with you if need be."

Paul's eyes were fixed on the bed, his heart pounding out of rhythm as he waited for Adam to comply. He almost ended up walking out the door, but just as he was about to, Adam stepped backwards and sank down on the bed again. Needing a moment to himself, Paul turned his back to him. He paced two steps away, to where his chair had been shoved back when he'd sprung out of it. Closing his eyes briefly, he wiped his brow twice with the heel of his hand. It didn't help all that much. His composure seemed to lay scattered around the room; a result of all the emotions he'd pushed back being propelled out of him in an outburst of helplessness and rage. And he couldn't take it back now. It was too late.

Tying himself to the thread of control he had left, he grabbed the chair. He pulled it back to its previous position and sat down. When he bent to retrieve the bandage-roll lying on the floor, he still hadn't met Adam's eyes and he had no intention of doing so. Wordlessly, he held out his hand. In corresponding silence, Adam extended his left arm. Paul noticed a nearly imperceptible flinch as he took hold of his wrist and he knew Adam must be suffering the consequences of waving the arm about. He gentled his touch. Not a word was said between them. And Paul made the decision that this would be the fastest bandaging job he'd ever performed.

xXXx


	37. Chapter 37

_**Author's Notes**_

 _And here comes the next one! I hope you all like it! :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 37**

Less than ten minutes later, Adam walked down the stairs with a fresh bandage around his arm and an odd feeling churning in his gut. He sensed Paul following behind him at a distance as if the doctor didn't want to get too close to him. As he descended the last steps, he wondered if he should have made more of an effort to clear the air between them before they'd headed downstairs. But with the way Paul had looked, Adam was almost certain he wouldn't have gotten a chance to.

They approached the sitting area where the others were seated around the table, playing cards and having quite the time by the sounds of it. There was laughter and good-natured teasing in among the animated conversation. It all stopped, however, when Adam and Paul came over. Madeline faced them, asking if everything was all right and since she clearly referred to his arm, Adam gave a quiet nod. After she'd taken a proper look at him and then Paul who slipped into the blue chair, her expression—still delighted from the fun she was having with the rest of the family—changed into one of worry. Next, it settled into downright distress. The coward he was, Adam bowed his head to escape the sight. He sat down beside her on the settee and she said nothing else. Neither his father nor his brothers made any comments. They just returned to their cards.

For Adam, the next hour went by in a strange blur. Even being next to Madeline again, his mood didn't improve. He might be physically present, but his mind was elsewhere. Back upstairs in his bedroom—reliving the conversation with Paul over and over again. Trying to make sense of what had happened. Despite his preoccupation with his troubled thoughts, he could tell that Madeline was concerned. Although he didn't face her, he felt her little glances whenever they struck him and he noticed the way she kept resettling herself on the settee. Fortunately for him, his brothers kept her busy with more card games and so he had yet another thing to be grateful to them for. He knew of no other two people who could override a strained atmosphere so effectively by simply talking non-stop and telling jokes. But that's exactly what Joe and Hoss gradually managed to do. By no means a discreet method—but effective, nonetheless. Their father, on the other hand, didn't say much and Adam had a feeling he would find a figure of stern disapproval if he looked over at the red chair. All the more reason not to.

As late afternoon came around, after many games of Whist, Madeline attempted to convince Hop Sing to allow her entrance into his kitchen. Somehow, she managed it. Adam made a couple of half-hearted objections, but he didn't have it in him to deny her. She just wanted to help out and show her appreciation for the support and warm welcome she'd received at the Ponderosa. He couldn't really blame her for that. Also, he thought it might be good for her to concentrate on something else and get her mind off worrying for a while. He noticed that Paul didn't comment at all when she disappeared into the kitchen and he was keenly aware that since they'd come back downstairs, the doctor hadn't uttered a word to anyone. Whenever he peeked over at the older man, Paul's nose was firmly buried in his journal where he wrote away as if his life depended on it.

The tension between them had changed. Not that it had disappeared—it had just taken on an entirely different nature. Adam found that he almost felt this was worse. No, not almost. Definitely, it _was_ worse, and it weighed heavily on his already unsettled mind. So heavily, that all the conflicting emotions he harbored inside had been nudged out of their fragile balance and now they were in a bad place. With Madeline gone, he suddenly didn't quite know what to do with himself.

The urge to be alone hit him with all the force of a fist smacking into his gut. It was always the same when something troubled him to this point, when he started to feel overwhelmed. He needed to work through things on his own terms, in his own time and more than anything—he needed _privacy_ to do it in. He knew he should leave the room, get away from everyone. Yet for some reason, he couldn't get himself to move. And the longer he stayed, the worse he felt.

It began as a series of tingles in his feet, shooting up his numbed legs—restlessness taunting him. Soon, one knee was bouncing in a rapid beat, nearly matching his pulse as it sped up. His vision started to blur as disturbing thoughts cropped up in his mind; the kind of thoughts that were best kept hidden away until nighttime where they would inevitably emerge to torment, to punish. When he was _alone_ and prepared for them. Except right now, they wouldn't wait for the cover of darkness. As if demanding witnesses to the abuse, those thoughts slowly crowded his mind, overpowering everything else to the point where his surroundings faded from his awareness. All sounds; his brothers talking, Paul's scribbling, the vague noises from the kitchen—it all merged into one daunting pounding that made his head spin. So loud, there was room for nothing else. Unease seemed to crawl over him inch by inch, and he had no protection against it as it crept through his clothes to his skin where it prickled, making hairs stand up. Until it broke through the thin surface and anxiety was a living being within him, pulsing in his heated blood, draining him of air. Suffocating him. And suddenly, all that mattered was getting _away_. Outside. Where he could breathe.

His chest on fire and his head about to explode, he finally got moving. He half-leaped from the settee and strode for the front door, mumbling, he thought, something about the barn. Promptly, Joe's voice chased him from far away, asking about joining him and he heard himself decline the offer without even turning back around. One minute he was reaching through a fog hanging by the door, hoping to find the latch, his escape. And the next, he was standing on the porch, feet unsteady on the wooden floorboards as he jerked the door shut behind him.

The cool air hit his face—instantly soothing his burning skin. He gulped it in, greedily. Like a man half-drowned. His legs, weak as they were, somehow managed to carry him to the wooden beam under the porch roof and he slumped against it. That's when he realized his hands were shaking. From his wrists to his fingertips, they trembled, uncontrollably.

"D-damn it . . ." he gasped. He despised when that happened. Forcing his eyes shut, he slammed his right hand against the hard wood in defiance. Stopping the tremors. He stayed like that as the dense cluster of thoughts began to disperse in his mind. His pulse slowed from its frantic rhythm, returning to normal. And he gradually came back to himself.

After God knows how long, he became aware of the stillness around him. This was better. Outside was much better for him. Cool and quiet. Just what he needed.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a world much clearer than before. He pushed away from the beam and swiped a sleeve across his brow, taking a few last, steadying breaths. It suddenly occurred to him to check around himself, and his eyes raced out and across the yard. To his relief, he saw no cowhands hanging about. He tucked his bad arm close to his body and peered up at the sky.

It was a grey day, the kind that promised more to come. Looming clouds hovered above—huge masses forming the highest of ceilings in colors ranging from all shades of white to black. The sight stirred a streak of melancholy in him. He found a tragic beauty to heaven today.

His body felt heavy as he took a dragging step down from the porch and proceeded across the yard. It was slow going because he didn't quite trust his legs not to give out and dump him in the dust. Exhausted, but back in control, he kept his mind strictly blank when he got to the barn. It was a way of proving to himself that he _was_ in control of his thoughts—even the dark ones—and that _he_ chose when and if he would revisit them. At least he hoped it was so. Or maybe he was just fooling himself.

Grabbing the latch on the barn door, he slid the bolt sideways with a metallic click. He pulled the heavy wood open, moved inside and immediately, Sport snorted in a delighted greeting for his human.

"Hey boy," Adam murmured in return.

He left the door ajar and went to grab a horse brush from one of the hooks on the wall. Sport watched from his stall, his tail whipping back and forth while he grunted restlessly. Horse brush in hand, Adam walked over to the impatient mount, and he was met with an approving whinny when he opened the door to the stall. At the same instant, a white horse snout came straight at him. He allowed himself a weary smile. Sport's velvety muzzle roamed over his chest and down to his right hand where it nudged the brush. Finding nothing edible there, it wandered back up all the way to his neck, searching and taking some time to nuzzle him too.

Adam managed to veer around the insistent muzzle and stepped around to Sport's side. As he ran his hand down the chestnut's reddish-brown hind quarters, he noted how clean and shiny Sport's coat was. Someone must have already given the horse a thorough brush-down earlier and he suspected Hoss had done him the favor. Apparently, there was no end to his siblings' goodness these days and no limit to his own selfishness and stupidity. His shoulders dropped an inch as he began running the brush over Sport's back. If the horse felt it odd that he was receiving such special attention today, he didn't let on.

Finally, in the seclusion of the barn and with no one but his trusted steed to judge him, Adam began to relax, moving the brush in long, steady strokes. There was something about the repetitive motion—the comforting familiarity of it. It was soothing, almost meditative to him. For a while, he concentrated only on the simple task and Sport's soft noises of pleasure. Until finally, the calm was restored in him.

And only then did he let his mind drift back to what had happened between him and Paul.

He was confused. That was about the size of it. However much he wanted to tell himself that he had nothing to feel guilty about, this nagging feeling in his heart wouldn't let him believe it. In all the years he'd known Paul, he'd seen him get truly upset no more than a handful of times. And that was what had happened earlier. Paul had been angry, yes, and plenty annoyed, but in the end—he'd been that. Upset. Not an angry kind of upset either but a distraught kind. For that reason, Adam was now reevaluating every interaction he'd had with the doctor as of late. He reflected on how the hostility had increased between them for the last couple of days and questioned his own role in it all. Today had been worse than anything so far. Since morning, Paul had seemed determined to rile him. While he knew for a fact that he hadn't instigated the first many verbal provocations, he had still fired back each time with snappy comebacks to match the jibes flung at him. Something he now regretted.

He had already realized that the more time he'd been spending with Madeline lately, the worse things had gotten between him and her uncle. There was, without doubt, a link between his own growing closeness with her and Paul's growing grouchiness towards him. He had also contemplated what his father had said the morning before, about Paul worrying about Madeline and needing to spend time with her too. But to Adam, it seemed like the doctor only entered her room to act as chaperone and to put him in his place—not to be together with her. Whenever Paul had been near Madeline the last while, he'd seemed more preoccupied with insulting Adam than being there for her sake. Like the older man was dead-set on pushing him away from her. But _why?_

Earlier, he'd reached the conclusion that Paul felt he wasn't good enough for her, which had—quite understandably—bothered him.

Certainly not because he disagreed with that opinion. There really was no disputing it. Naturally, he just preferred not to have it rubbed in his face all the time. Deep down, he'd understood the doctor for feeling that way. After all, Paul had seen him in his darkest place. In his despair and hopelessness, drunk and disordered—on the verge of giving up. He'd said things he'd even asked the doctor not to tell his own father. Just the kind of son-in-law a person would want. Hardly.

So, yes, he'd understood that Paul might feel that Madeline deserved better than him especially now, after everything she'd been through. But then the doctor had gone and denied it.

 _"You're wrong about that,"_ he'd said.

They had been friends for a very long time and as he'd heard those words, Adam had believed him. Firstly, knowing Paul, he would probably be ruthlessly honest if he thought that was the case and secondly—Doctor Paul Martin didn't lie. He wasn't that kind of a man and it was a trait Adam had always respected about him.

It all came down to this—Adam had been wrong in his assumption. He'd obviously missed _something_ , and that was why he did indeed feel guilty now. He'd assumed he knew how Paul felt and he'd acted accordingly which had only made things worse. To put it mildly. That argument was one he wouldn't soon forget. As he thought back on the encounter, there were many things he would have done differently if he could. Things he would've stopped himself from saying and things he now knew he should've said instead. There was no hiding from the fact that he'd severely tested Paul's patience when he should have at least been courteous. His friend had taken the time to treat his injury. His friend had shown understanding and consideration when tending to him. When seeing his scars. And Adam had repaid him with brusque tones and stubbornness. And ultimately, he'd lost his temper.

A regular occurrence these days, it seemed.

He didn't know what was wrong with his head lately. His mind just wasn't where it should be. He was all over the place. What had happened to him just before in the house was proof of that. He needed to get himself together, that much was clear.

Sport suddenly tossed his head with a disgruntled snort, informing him that he was being neglected. Adam realized that his hand had gone still and the brush was resting on the horse's back.

"Sorry boy . . ." he mumbled and resumed the brushing.

Right now, it was probably best if he and Paul took a little break from each other. If that could be managed with them both living under the same roof. One thing he was sure of—he was done fighting with the older man. Even if Paul started up with spiteful language again, Adam wouldn't bite back. He would try to be more understanding and patient instead. And he could only hope that his love for Madeline wouldn't end up costing him and old and dear friend.

xXXx

By the time Adam left the barn a little while later, his thoughts were more settled. He felt ready to face other people again. He'd just closed off the barn door when the sudden feeling that he was being watched overcame him. He spun around to get a view of the yard and straight away, he spotted his father standing near the bunkhouse. Observing him. At least forty feet of empty yard between them, they studied each other, neither one moving.

Adam inwardly rolled his eyes. Then, shaking his head, he began walking. His pa did too.

They met in the middle of the yard and Adam cupped his left elbow in the palm of his hand, settling for a half arm-cross. It was better than nothing.

"Don't tell me you've been loitering around out here all this time just waiting for me to come out."

His father cleared his throat, cautiously. "You left in such a rush, Adam. I know you don't want me to . . . well, I gave it a while, but I was worried. When I did come out to see if you were all right, Harry called me over to talk about something and I only just came out of the bunkhouse. I wasn't sure if you were still in the barn . . ." He wavered, grave wrinkles framing his mouth and tugging his brows closer together. " _Are_ you all right, son?"

Adam tried for casualness. "Yea. I just . . . needed some air."

He failed so miserably that the uncomfortable silence that descended around them seemed to go on for hours. Growing uneasy under his father's keen regard, he drew in a quick breath and forced out a more honest reply.

"There were some things I needed to think over. And I had to do it alone."

"I see . . ."

"But it's all right now, Pa. You don't need to worry." He relaxed his stance, but still felt those dark eyes on him. Hoping to shift the focus onto something else, he asked, "So, what did Harry want then?"

He hadn't really expected to get away with it, but his father put his hands on his waist and gazed back at the bunkhouse. "He wanted to tell me about the work he and the men did checking on the herd in the south section today . . ."

The fact that he willingly went along with the subject change was a clear indicator that something was wrong. Extra attentive now, Adam straightened, watching him closely.

"And . . .?"

A moment passed before the reply came. "It looks like we've lost thirty head from the south pasture."

Adam frowned. "Didn't a few go missing in that area not long ago?"

"Yes. And it was more than a few." Grim-faced, his pa laid a hand on his shoulder and kept it there, turning them both towards the house. "It's a bit too coincidental for my liking."

"You're thinking rustlers?" he asked, looking sideways as they walked.

"I'm not sure yet but it wouldn't be the first time. Anyway, we certainly can't rule it out. Harry didn't want to say anything directly, but he did seem to have a _feeling._ "

This was just what they needed. Obviously, they'd dealt with cattle-rustling before—most ranchers around these parts had at one point or another. But hunting for rustlers was a serious, time-consuming and not to mention, often dangerous business. It couldn't have come at a worse time. Hoss and Joe definitely weren't ready to be riding out and taking on cattle thieves.

They stepped up on the porch and walked along the floor as Adam quietly processed what he'd been told. It wasn't until they stopped by the front door and he felt a long squeeze to his shoulder that he faced his father again.

"What are you thinking, son?"

He chose his words with care before responding. "Maybe I should ride out there tomorrow and look around. I could take a couple of men with me, we might find some tracks."

His father raised an eyebrow at him. Informing him without words that there were all sorts of reasons why that wouldn't be happening.

A rush of exasperation flew from Adam's lips. "Pa, I'm fine."

"Mmh, you look it." There was a hint of humor in the older man's countenance, but it quickly merged into that overprotective, fatherly affection that even now could make Adam squirm like a kid. "Let's wait a few days and see what happens before _we_ go riding anywhere. I've already told Harry and his crew to search every inch of the area tomorrow and they'll keep an eye out. If they find anything, they'll report back to me right away. Who knows, those foolish steers might have wandered off and found themselves a nicer meadow nearby."

His gut told him that was unlikely and Adam knew his pa believed it no more than he did.

"And if it _is_ rustlers?"

"Then we'll deal with it."

The answer was clear-cut simple.

"All right," Adam said with soft acceptance. Arguing would get him nowhere and while he would rather have been out there searching himself, he had to acknowledge that he probably wasn't ready to ride around the countryside yet.

"Come on, let's go back inside," his father said in a lighter tone, gently patting his shoulder. "I think Madeline and Hop Sing are cooking up quite a feast for supper." He grasped the door handle. "And let's keep this missing-cattle business between us for now."

Adam nodded his affirmation. "Sure."

He pushed the door inwards and they were soon assailed by a waft of mouth-watering aromas that Adam immediately recognized. Madeline's baking.

"Well, something smells delicious!" his pa exclaimed, closing the door behind them as Adam paused by the dresser where everyone's coats and hats were hanging up.

He saw his brothers sitting on the settee and Joe quickly jerked his head around. A look of relief crossed the kid's face and Adam instantly felt bad for brushing him off earlier when he'd rushed out of the house. He offered a hesitant smile, which Joe caught and returned with an easy grin.

Seemingly boundless tolerance. It would take him years to make things up to those brothers of his. _Brothers._

He noticed that Hoss hadn't turned around. All he could see was the big man's expansive back and there was something . . . odd about the way he was sitting. Looking to Joe, Adam cocked his head. Joe waved him over, smiling fondly as he leaned back against the armrest of the settee. Puzzled, Adam slowly approached them, hearing his father following in his steps at the same pace. He was aware that Paul was reclining in the blue chair, but the doctor didn't appear to be acknowledging anything outside of his journal.

As Adam got closer, he realized that Hoss' shoulders were awkwardly hunched as he sat stock-still, almost like he was trying to be small and discreet. Or invisible. Finally, Adam came to a halt at the side of the settee and gazed down at his sibling. Next to him, his father choked on a laugh.

Hoss' cheeks were stuffed like a chipmunk's—golden-brown crumbs stuck by the corners of his mouth and even more strewn across the front of his shirt.

Lips twitching, Adam nodded at the two round, cinnamon-colored biscuits clutched in his meaty palm. "How'd you manage to get hold of them? Isn't Hop Sing out there?"

The second he asked, he guessed the answer.

Evidently realizing he'd been discovered, Hoss turned and peered up at him and Adam was abruptly taken back to one time he'd caught his brother at ten years old, coming out of the back door to the kitchen while stuffing molasses-cookies into his pockets.

"It was Madeline," Joe spoke up, bringing him back to the present. "She snuck them out for him while Hop Sing wasn't looking."

Now chuckling heartily, his father walked to the red chair, holding both hands up. "I want no part of this. I've seen nothing."

Hoss swallowed, his cheeks returning to normal size. "She sure is somethin'. I gotta say she makes the dang finest. . ." He scrunched his face up. "Uh, what was it she called 'em again, Joe?"

"Ginger nuts."

"Yea, that's right." He admired the two cookies. "The dang finest of them nuts I ever did taste. Fresh out of the oven too." He glanced up again, hesitated, then slowly extended his hand in a manner that suggested tremendous self-sacrifice. "You uh . . . you want one, Adam?"

Adam couldn't help but smile. "No thanks, you have them. I . . ." He peeked over at Paul who gave no indication he was listening. Or interested. "I think I'll just go and see if I can sneak one out for myself."

With that, he headed around the settee in the direction of the kitchen. Cookies, the furthest thing from his mind. What was it, a little over half an hour since he'd last seen her? And now his heart was filling with warmth, thumping in anticipation of going out to her, of being near her again.

He was by the dining room table when he stopped and turned back around. "Oh, you might want to, you know—" He brushed a hand across his shirtfront, tipping his head at Hoss. "Get rid of the evidence."

Hoss looked down at his own shirt, grimaced, and quickly began wiping the crumbs away. Twisting around again, Adam walked to the kitchen—the sound of Joe's chortle and his father's rich chuckle going off behind him.

xXXx

Supper was a feast that proved just how well Hop Sing and Madeline worked together behind a stove. A delicious dish of fried chicken, sweet potatoes, fresh vegetables and big, golden biscuits to mop up a rich gravy. As platters of food were passed around, Joe and Hoss kept the conversation flowing around the table and continued to do so throughout the meal. Paul was either silent or speaking quietly with Ben. But mostly silent.

Although there were many of his favorite foods on the table this evening, Adam was having difficulty enjoying any of it. Not so much because of Paul but more because of Madeline. She had overdone things. He'd known it the second he'd seen her in the kitchen and his frustration had been instantaneous. It hadn't helped matters that she'd tried to hide her exhaustion from him and he'd struggled to keep calm with her. Now, sitting at the dining table, he was regarding her with more concern than annoyance—chewing and swallowing every bite of food without tasting much. She looked tired, frail. Her face was nearly as white as her blouse, a greyish tinge just under her eyes. There was a certain heaviness to her movements; the listless way she cut her food, the delayed manner in which she looked up in response to something Joe said to her. As though it took her mind several moments to catch up. And her smiles were weak imitations of the real wonders, lacking their usual vibrancy and effortlessness.

Adam most wanted to scoop her up, carry her upstairs and put her to bed. But while he was itching to do that, he imagined she wouldn't appreciate the gesture, however good his intentions might be. So, he tried to tamp down on his concern, waiting instead, for the right time to step in.

That time came when everyone's plates had been cleaned except for Madeline's, which to Adam's displeasure was still half-full when she set down her cutlery. The relaxed conversation continued between his father and brothers for a couple of minutes while he thought on how to approach her without coming across as being annoyed that she'd overtaxed herself. She didn't need that from him. He just had to make her understand that he was only worried about her and trying to do what was best for her. Before he could lean over and deliver a few soft-spoken, caring words in her ear, she abruptly stiffened in her chair.

"Oh. I have something in the oven . . ." she muttered, like talking to herself as she stood.

"Madeline, you—"

Her back was already to him. "I'll only be a moment . . ."

Adam bit back any further protest and shot a look at Paul to see if he intended to do something about this. Paul's gaze tracked her as she walked off, the worry written plainly on his face, but he didn't say anything. Then when she disappeared around the corner to the kitchen, his eyes dropped down and slightly to the side—Adam's way. The doctor wiped his mouth with his napkin, rose from his chair and excused himself. But to Adam's surprise, and everyone else's for that matter, Paul strode not towards the kitchen, but to the staircase. Sudden, hot anger spiked in Adam. Whatever issues he and Paul might have with each other, it was unfair to take it out on Madeline. She was unwell, and the doctor had just walked away.

"She needs to be sitting down . . ." his father said worriedly, breaking through the quiet now in the dining room.

Adam grabbed the napkin from his lap and tossed it onto the table.

"She'll sit down all right."

His voice was all promise.

He was out of his chair the same second, marching around the dining table, his strides long and purposeful. Nearing the kitchen, he heard an eruption of loud objections from Hop Sing and he picked up the pace. When he reached the doorway, he stopped to assess the somewhat chaotic situation. Hop Sing stood over by the water pump next to a pile of dirty dishes, his sleeves rolled up, now continuing his rant in his native tongue. Droplets of water flew from his hands as he gestured wildly at Madeline who was by the stove across the room. Distracted, she made a few soft sounds to placate him as she looked around herself, searching for something, her features becoming even more drawn and tight. When she took a dish cloth from the workbench and bent down to the oven, Adam stepped forward, aiming a pointed finger at her.

"Stop right there!"

It was the voice he'd commonly used to get unruly soldiers to listen to him; deep and filled with authority, a voice that demanded attention. It worked. She righted herself and turned to give him a look of innocent surprise that seemed to ask, "are you addressing _me_ in that tone?"

"Don't move," he ordered, more calmly, striding towards her.

"But Adam," she said in distress, "I _must_ get these out of the oven before they burn."

"Let me."

"But I—"

"Hand over the cloth."

Looking thoroughly bemused, she held out her hand and he swiftly seized the dish towel, then bent down to open the oven. A wave of hot air rushed out and using his good hand, he pulled out the cast-iron tray filled with rows of neat, golden-brown cakes.

"Honey, this thing's heavy . . ." he admonished, frustrated that she'd actually intended to lift the tray.

Madeline didn't seem to hear him, she just smiled happily down at the tea cakes. "Oh, look. They're just right."

"Yea, that's . . . great." He set the tray down on top of the stove and none too gently, thrust the oven door closed.

"Missy Madeline velly bad," Hop Sing piped up from across the room, waving his arms about. "She work too much and she no listen when Hop Sing tell her to stop! Mr. Adam you do something!"

"Okay, all right Hop Sing, I'll—"

"You make Missy go! This no good! You take—"

"Simmer down, will you?" Adam cut in, practically hurling the checkered dishcloth onto the workbench. "She's leaving now."

With a grunt and a sharp nod, the cook went back to his dirty dishes, muttering something in Cantonese that Adam didn't understand. It was probably for the best.

He turned to Madeline, his shoulders set stiffly like his jaw, his posture unyielding. "Let's go. You're not spending another minute in this kitchen today."

Her eyes finally left the cakes and she gazed at him for a confused couple of seconds to process the words, then her lips formed a soft, soundless O. She brushed a brown ringlet away from her forehead—one of the many that had escaped her hair-clip—and her lashes fluttered a few times.

"Yes, all right . . ."

He held his hand out to her and she moved towards him, but then halted. "Just a moment . . . I think I might have forgotten—" She made to twist around, but that was it for him then, and he caught her by the elbows.

"Madeline, you _have_ to stop now."

Unnervingly, her hands instantly went to his chest and she fell forwards like she'd needed the support, her eyes closing. His irritation immediately gave way to worry.

"Here," he said, drawing her close to him. "Come here, honey."

"I'm . . . I am sorry, Adam . . ."

He let go of a long, pent-up breath as she settled into his embrace. "You promised me you would take it easy, right? And before we sat down for supper, we agreed you were going to rest afterwards, and suddenly you're rushing off out here again. You can't do that Madeline, you've only just started to feel better."

She dipped her head and a wealth of rich, long curls fell forward, partially hiding her face from his view.

"I only wanted to prevent the cakes from burning. I had forgotten about them and then when I remembered I knew they had to come out now . . ."

"You could've asked Hop Sing to do it for you," he countered.

"That didn't seem very polite when he's busy with a mountain of dishes to—"

"Forget politeness for once—you've completely worn yourself out."

Her crestfallen look thawed his annoyance, and he adjusted his accusing tone to something much softer.

"It's time to stop, sweetheart." He reached up and stroked her cheek tenderly with his knuckles. His brow furrowed at the slight heat under his hand and he noticed the faint patches of pink to her cheeks.

"You feel a bit warm now too . . ."

She leaned into him, her lashes slowly lowering and rising in a dazed sort of way. "I do? Oh . . . don't you think it might just be the heat from the oven?"

He hoped so. She'd just been so very ill, he wasn't sure he could take seeing her like that again right now, confined to a bed, so vulnerable and exhausted.

"I don't know, maybe," he mumbled, caressing the side of her face. "But what I _do_ know is that you're either going to walk out of this kitchen _willingly_ with me now . . ." He cupped her chin, tipping her up to meet his intense gaze. ". . . or I will remove you."

By the way her lips started to curl in what looked to be the beginnings of a smile, he figured she thought that he was kidding about that last part. He kept his expression firm, inflexible but without being too hard as he locked her eyes with his to show just how _not_ _kidding_ he was. Her lips slowly drifted downwards instead.

"That won't be necessary, Adam . . ."

His sternness subsided, and he fixed a small, off-center smile to his face. "I'm glad to hear it. Let's go then."

Wrapping one arm around her, he directed her towards the kitchen doorway.

"Thank you, Hop Sing," she quickly said over her shoulder, "it was wonderful being in the kitchen with you."

"Yes, but Missy Madeline stay away now," the little man called, his tone strict. "Not come back here for long time."

With a smile, she leaned against Adam and he held her a little tighter as they went.

"He is such a joy . . ." she mumbled.

Probably not the first word he would use to describe their temperamental cook, but Adam hummed agreeably all the same as he walked her out of the kitchen.

They got as far as the now abandoned dining table when she stopped, glancing around. "Where did Uncle Paul go?"

"Upstairs I think." He gently but firmly tugged her along with him. "Come on, you need to sit down and rest."

"But we were going to play chess together . . ." she said, allowing him to guide her onward.

"You can play chess with Paul another day."

They moved to the settee and he could vaguely hear his father and brothers talking over by the alcove. Almost as soon as he'd gotten her seated on the couch, her eyelids started to droop.

"I do feel a bit tired now . . ."

"I bet you do."

Sitting next to her, he draped his arm along the backrest of the settee, settling it around her shoulders.

"Come here," he said, pulling her body to rest against him. "Just relax for a few minutes."

She attempted, quite feebly, to push away as she looked around them. "Adam, this is hardly appropri—" He lifted his hand and ran it through her hair. She breathed a long sigh. "Oh, never mind . . ."

There. Much better. He felt her melting into him and he released a sigh of his own as he started to calm down. God, she'd exhausted him. Absentmindedly, he played with her hair, sifting the satiny strands between his fingers. After a few moments, he mumbled. "You can be pretty stubborn, you know that?"

A very soft, very tired laugh—clearly directed at him—hit the top of his shirt. His mouth fell open. He tried to sound offended. "What was that laugh for, Miss Delaney?"

"Mmmh, quite an accusation . . ." She struggled to stifle a yawn. ". . . for you to be making."

"You're saying I'm stubborn too?"

"Only the most stubborn man I've ever met."

"So, I must know what I'm talking about then."

"Yes . . . yes, I suppose you would."

She nestled under his chin, molding herself to him and a strange sort of ache blossomed inside him. He moved his hand down from her hair and folded his arm around her like he never intended to let her leave this position. A couple of minutes passed until he felt a warm brush of air against the base of his throat.

"Adam . . .?" she asked, her voice very drowsy now.

"Mmm?"

"You're not angry with me . . . are you?"

One corner of his mouth lifted, and he dropped a gentle kiss to her hair. "No, I'm not angry. I just want you to take care for yourself. Or at least let me do it."

She gave a faint murmur and he laid his cheek against the top of her head. Her sweet scent teased at his nose and he inhaled it deep into his lungs, basking in the pleasure of it, the aroma making him lightheaded. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in how much he enjoyed the feeling of her soft little body pressed against his. She fitted there. So perfectly. Like she belonged right there at his side. He could tell she'd fallen asleep by the way she rested just slightly heavier against him as her breathing became slow and steady. Opening his eyes again, he glanced down and noticed that her fist had curled into his shirt. A warm burst of deep emotion hit him smack in the center of his chest and then seemed to spread throughout his entire system. How had he been so lucky to find this woman? How could he ever express to her how she made him feel?

He was so focused on her, he barely registered Hoss and Joe when they came over with soundless steps. They settled on the edge of the fireplace opposite him and he looked up. The affection shone out of both of them as they regarded her, then they smiled at him. He smiled back, and his face must have shown at least some of what he felt because their happiness for him was palpable when they suddenly grinned. He knew she would be embarrassed when she woke up and realized she'd fallen asleep on him in open view like this, but it didn't matter. This moment, he would cherish forever. His father appeared behind the settee, leaning over the backrest to carefully drape a quilt over her. Adam nodded up at him in thanks, but the moment his pa moved out of the way, his line of sight fell on the staircase.

Paul was standing on the landing, one hand braced on the banister, the other dangling by his side. There was the oddest expression on his face and his eyes were on Madeline. He was staring at her as if transfixed.

Adam frowned, watching him. The expected reprimand failed to arrive. No, sharp comments, no fierce glare. Just nothing. Eventually, the doctor lifted his gaze and their eyes connected for the first time since their argument earlier. Paul's look was unlike anything Adam had seen in his life. It was empty, old, and there was no irritation, no resentment anymore. Only a strange sense of sad acceptance. And then a flicker, just a tiny glimmer of something reminiscent of . . . affection. Adam swallowed to relieve the sharp pressure in his throat. Paul lowered his head.

Instead of descending the rest of the stairs, the doctor turned around and started up again. His back bent forward in a hunch, he took each step as if he were leaving part of himself behind.

Resting his cheek on Madeline's curls again, Adam watched the older man until he disappeared out of sight.

xXXx

Absolute silence greeted him as he entered the room. He wandered across the floor, his eyes roaming around him. With nightfall rolling in, the colors of the furniture were left muted by the advancing darkness. They would stay that way until the sun rose and ignited a brilliant new dawn to give the dimmed hues back their vibrancy. A new day. It couldn't come soon enough.

He ended up by the bed and slowly sank down onto it. The creak of the mattress accompanied by the creak of old bones. A flowery fragrance hung about him—her invisible presence still powering the room and bringing out a somber smile. An old fool's smile. He wondered how long that scent would linger on in his own home. A long time, he hoped.

The silence would be the hardest thing. It would be hard to go back to such silence again after living with the blessing of a soft, loving voice welcoming him home every day. But he would do what was needed of him when the time came.

He shifted to sit sideways and picked up the dark blue, velvet pouch lying on the bed. Smoothing the soft material with his thumbs, he gazed ahead of himself. At the white pillows, freshly propped up against the headboard. At the chess board standing on the flat cushion—pieces all set and ready. He closed his eyes, sat quietly for a few seconds. Then, he reached out towards the board. One by one, the chess pieces dropped back into the velvet pouch.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hello everybody! I hope you've all had a great start to 2019. Thank you very much for the reviews on the last two chapters, they were like wonderful little Christmas gifts to me :)_

 _I thought it was interesting to explore the tension between Adam and Paul, and more of this will be coming._

 _I'm a bit nervous but also excited to be back with another chapter. I realize it's been a while, and I apologize if it makes it difficult for you to stick with the story although I do understand. The events in each chapter are so closely connected. I can only hope you haven't lost interest..._

 _Well, this chapter takes place a few days after chapter 37. We're still at the Cartwright house, Adam is still dealing (quite unsuccessfully) with his inner struggles, tensions have been running high between him and the good doctor and he and Madeline are, of course, still very much in love. I really hope you like this. The next chapter will be up in a couple of days. (If you do enjoy this, I suspect you'll want to know what happens next) :)_

 _I hope you are all well._

* * *

 **Chapter 38**

Madeline sat on the upholstered stool at the vanity table, wearing only her white linen chemise, a pair of silk stockings and drawstring drawers that ended just below her knees. In slow, rhythmic strokes, she drew the bristle brush through her hair, easing out the tangled knots that hid in the mass of her deep brown locks. She tipped her head to the side, considering herself in the mirror. Without makeup on her face, there was no rosy blush on her cheeks to break over the natural paleness she'd inherited from her fair-skinned mother. Her eyes were brightly green, almost shimmering in the first few rays of light trickling in through the window to her left. Her lips seemed fuller the way they fell in a thoughtful droop, but she didn't feel sad today. Just reflective.

It was Friday. She'd spent a week at the Ponderosa, and for the last four days, this had been her morning routine.

She smoothed out the last mussed curls before laying the hairbrush down on the dressing table. Her hair hung like a veil over her bare shoulders as she ran her fingers over the polished marble top.

It had been Ben's idea, bringing the vanity table up from the cellar for her. He'd seemed apologetic about not thinking of it sooner and excused his forgetfulness by joking that he'd gotten too used to living with a bunch of roughneck sons who required only a splash of water, a cursory shave and a fresh shirt in the mornings. A five-minute trip to the washroom might be enough to ready them for the day, but he'd insisted that a lady should certainly have a proper dressing table available to her. Madeline had naturally asked him not to go to such trouble and assured him that the dresser and long mirror in her room were perfectly suitable for her needs. But to no avail. Disregarding all her objections, Hoss and Joe had headed to the cellar while Ben reassured her it was really no trouble at all.

If she hadn't guessed it already, she would have known the minute she laid eyes on the vanity that it had belonged to Marie, Joe's mother. The only Mrs. Cartwright to have lived in this house. Back when she'd first met Adam, she had already learned enough of the Cartwright family's history to understand his reluctance to talk about his childhood, particularly about his mothers. She'd never pressed him on the matter, but in the rare instances he _had_ decided to open up to her about that part of his life, it was Marie he'd spoken most about. Perhaps that was because he had more memories of his third mother or perhaps, speaking of Elizabeth and Inger was just too difficult for him. In any case, Marie Cartwright was a woman whom Madeline had heard a great deal of and not just from Adam but more so, from her uncle and Ben. And as Hoss and Joe had carried the vanity table into her room, she found that the furniture fitted exactly with the image she had in her head of this well-bred lady of French Creole descent from New Orleans.

With utmost care, they had placed it against the wall opposite her bed and she noticed Ben's sudden silence because she had already been looking his way, worried for him. She had laid a careful hand on his arm then, fearing that his kind gesture to her would stir up painful memories for himself. But he'd quickly donned a smile and patted her hand. As he'd begun to wipe the white marble top free of dust, he humbly said that it probably wasn't as fashionable as the dressing tables she'd been used to having at her disposal. Her response to that was to give him a long, knowing look. Because she had known after one short glimpse of the vanity, that this was something extraordinary. In fact, it was the type of dressing table that one would only find in the homes of the privileged.

Hand carved from mahogany and finished in ivory paint, the vanity displayed smooth curves and quite a brilliant combination of floral and regal design. It had S-curved legs and four drawers adorned with intricate carvings and rose-shaped brass knobs. In addition to the central oblong mirror, there were two smaller mirrors on either side, angled slightly inward so as to give a lady a convenient view of her priming efforts. Finally, the ornate French style was completed with gold gilding details along the mirror frames and drawer fronts. Yes, one would have had to be very well-off indeed to own such a beautiful piece . . .

Madeline slid her fingers over to the top drawer on her right and pulled on the brass knob. Deep in thought still, she picked up her tortoiseshell comb and set about parting her hair down the center. She had a vague idea of the up-swept hairdo she wanted to wear today but couldn't quite focus enough to envision it as she usually did. There was something about this vanity table. It was almost as if she had started to feel a profound connection to its owner—the woman with whom she shared her Southern roots. Not only that, she had also found herself reminiscing over times now long gone.

Having been raised in a wealthy, upper-class family in Augusta, Madeline was no stranger to extravagance. She had grown up with a mother who had a taste for luxury—a true lady of society—and a father who was highly successful in the then growing textile industry—a businessman of great distinction. With such parents, she had enjoyed all the benefits of a privileged upbringing. Good food, elegant clothes, extravagant jewelry—she had wanted for nothing. Lavish gifts were given frequently in her family, always adding to the splendor of their household and her parents entertained often, thus having plenty of opportunities to show off their fineries. It was what all their acquaintances did as well at the time and Madeline had been very content with playing the part of the dutiful daughter who mingled and smiled. Just as she had tried so very hard later to be a dutiful wife.

When her thoughts took that turn, she lowered her eyes from her reflection. Absentmindedly, she continued working the comb through her hair, thinking how much her life had changed since then.

Here she was now, staying at a ranch in Nevada with no servants or maids—hundreds of miles from the nearest big city—the only lady in a household full of men. She was a working woman, and she had fallen in love with a cowboy who had served as a soldier of the Union. Had her mother lived to know that this would be her future, she surely would have fainted.

Despite the wistfulness stirring in her, Madeline smiled a little at that thought. She remembered her delicate mother with much fondness, even her tendency towards drama. Her smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared though. In her heart, she hoped that both her parents would have been happy for her. But if she were completely honest with herself, she knew they wouldn't have understood her decisions. Rather than happy, she expected they would have been disappointed. Perhaps even ashamed. Because she had done something that went against all they believed in, all she had been brought up to be. She had deserted her husband. A bad husband, but _her_ husband, nevertheless. And now he was gone. As were her parents. The fact was that she had no more ties to her old life; she was no one's daughter, no one's wife, but a woman raised in one world and now living in another. It was at times like these when pensive thoughts overcame her that she worried how someone like her could even fit into this rough lifestyle of the frontier. She was still adapting to this new way of living. While she no longer had any desires for luxury or stately possessions, she was still a lady in every sense. She did carry herself in a certain way, she couldn't help it. And she appreciated fine things. Fine things, such as this ivory vanity table.

Her expression turned thoughtful as she looked down and once again admired the fine craftsmanship before her. The vanity was like a link to her past; a piece of extravagance and a reminder of the life she'd once had. Good and bad. It was as just as splendid as the dressing table she'd been given by her grandmother as a girl. Although, not quite as grand as the one she had owned as a wife.

That one had been a wedding gift to her from Ray. On their wedding night, it had stood ready for her as a surprise in the bedroom she was to share with her new husband. At first, she had thought it to be a very thoughtful gift, and she'd thanked him. She had then expressed her concern for the cost of it as he'd stood behind her, smiling at her in the mirror. He had explained that the dressing table was sort of an investment. He expected her to keep up her appearance so he would have the most beautiful wife in all of Augusta. _It's_ _a matter of self-interest my dear_ , Ray had said. And without further ado, he had started to undress her.

The next morning—the first time she had sat at her new vanity table—the mirrors had shown her his violence upon her for the first time.

During their marriage, she'd spent hours on end at that dressing table and she had come to hate it, bitterly. After the first few months, she had even convinced herself that this must have been planned by him—that his gift to her would be a constant reminder of her agony, of his dominance. Even when he wasn't physically there. Then, one evening, on the night of their second anniversary, he had thrown a brandy bottle at her and missed. It had struck the dressing table instead and smashed the great mirror into tiny shards . . .

The images from the memory gradually blurred and dissolved. When her mind came back to the present, Madeline saw her reflection staring back at her. Lowering her hands from her hair, she let the curls fall free and brought her fingers to the blemishes around her neck. The last visible traces of him to mark her. They were fading now and no longer painful to her, not in a physical sense anyway. Every morning she was seeing less of him and more of herself. Soon, the bruises would be gone completely and there would be nothing of him left, nothing to see. But she would never forget. Deep down, she wondered if she would ever really be free of him. She could only hope for such freedom. And she prayed that whatever was there to greet her in the mirror every morning would be enough. Enough for herself and for the man she loved. For Adam.

Madeline closed her eyes, letting her thoughts go to him. Once she'd conjured a clear picture of him in her mind, she opened them again.

"Adam . . ."

She said his name aloud, watching her lips move around it. She saw twinkles begin to appear in her eyes with the thought of him. That was the power he had over her—just thinking of him could allay her worries and bring out a smile. Just saying his name could give her that fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of sweet anticipation rose in her heart with the knowledge that he was so close by—that all she needed to do was to get dressed and then she could go and be with him. Although it was still early, she was sure he would be up. She hoped he'd had a decent night. If he had, he would probably be downstairs with his brothers, having his first cup of coffee of the day. If not, he might be on his own either in his room or out in the barn. It was typically in the mornings and the evenings that solemn moods overtook him . . .

Her thoughts now solely focused on him, Madeline decided she'd done quite enough pondering for today. She needed to get ready so she could go and see him.

With sudden enthusiasm, she picked up where she'd left off with her primping. She styled her hair into a partially up-swept hairdo, letting a few loops hang free to frame her face and then using two hair-clips lined with emerald green rhinestones to keep the coiffure in place. Next, her attire. She rose from the stool and stepped over to the closet where her clothes were neatly stored. There really wasn't much for her to choose from. She'd been rushing and panicking when she'd packed her valise and she had never expected to be away from her uncle's house for this long. But she was tired of wearing the same white blouses and plain skirts. Today she would wear a dress. One garment in particular seemed to call out to her, so she pulled it from the closet and held it up. A plaid day dress in green and red with ribbon-trimmed sleeves and a high, white lace collar. It was elegant in an understated sort of way, and perfect for what she wanted today. She draped it over the foot of the bed and went to put on her petticoats and corset already laying ready for her. Managing a corset without the help of a maid was still a challenge for her occasionally, but she eventually got it tied to her liking. Once she'd slipped into her dress and had it all buttoned up, she felt quite pleased about her choice of attire. Hopefully, Adam would too.

She did a last check of her appearance in the mirror and gave her final approval. About to head for the door, she suddenly remembered opening the window earlier and walked over to close it. The sheer curtains waved lightly as she pulled them aside and looked out. The sun hung just over the horizon, like the fiery-red center of an explosion of color. She lingered there for a moment, enjoying the cool air and the sight of the early morning sky painted in pale yellow, red and blue—the shades constantly changing, gaining brightness. On the roof edge above her, the same little mountain blue bird bounced around as if impatiently waiting for the sun to climb the sky—singing to her the same playful melody it had awoken her with half an hour earlier. It was truly a wonderful morning. Suddenly, heavy footfalls somewhere beneath her diverted her attention. She glanced down to see Hoss stepping from the porch down to the yard, carrying a bundled blanket under his arm. Bracing her hands on the window frame, she leaned outside.

"Good morning Hoss . . ."

The big man startled and jerked his head from side to side. Madeline covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a laugh, then called again.

"I'm up here!"

He spun around, looked up and grinned broadly when he spotted her.

"Hey there, Miss Madeline!" He took his hat off. "Good morning to you too, Ma'am."

She smiled down at him. "I do wish you would just call me Madeline."

"Uh, yea, I . . ." He ducked his head and she thought she detected a little extra color in his cheeks. "I guess I just keep on forgettin' Ma'am. Ah, Madeline."

"It's all right," she said easily, knowing they would probably have this conversation many more times before he got used to calling her by her first name. "Are you already at work? You haven't had breakfast yet, have you?"

"No, not yet and this ain't work exactly, I just uh . . ." He awkwardly held the bundle up in the air. "I just had to put some things here in the barn."

"Oh, I see." Her mouth quirked again. "I'll see you at breakfast then."

"Yea, alrighty, Miss—" He grimaced. "Madeline."

He turned and headed across the yard and Madeline's smile remained as she drew back into her room, closing the window. She really was fond of Hoss. Since coming to stay at the ranch, she'd had the great pleasure of getting to know him better. He was obviously still very shy around her and she wasn't blind to the little smirks Adam and Joe sometimes exchanged when he got flustered, so she had aimed admonishing looks at the pair of them more than once. She would have to try and think of a way to help make him more comfortable around her.

After throwing a sweeping look about the room to check that everything was tidy, she walked to the door. Complete quiet met her as she stepped out into the empty hall, closing the door behind her. The silence surprised her because her room was at the corner, near the staircase, and she had expected to hear a rumble of deep voices in conversation downstairs. But there were no sounds save for the soft drag of her skirts as she moved to the top of the stairs.

At her first glance of the room below, she didn't think anyone was around, but then she noticed Ben working at his desk in the alcove. With one hand hoisting her skirt up and the other resting on the banister, she descended.

"Good morning Ben," she called, her voice bright.

He looked up from his paperwork. "Well, good morning!" A grin stretched his lips wide as he rose from his chair. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I was well rested when a delightful little bird came to my window and announced it was time to rise." She took the last step down and walked towards the alcove, smiling cheerfully. "I can't think of a better way to wake up in the morning than to the sound of birdsong."

"Mmh, I'm so used to it, I hardly ever notice it anymore."

As she stopped in front of his desk, Ben crossed his arms, studying her with an appreciative eye. "My dear, has anyone ever told you that you bring sunshine into the room when you enter?"

"Oh Ben, please," she said, dipping her head. There was certainly no doubt where Adam had gotten it from.

Chuckling, Ben gestured to the high window behind him. "See for yourself."

She turned her face up and gazed at the morning sunbeams pouring in, casting streaks of light onto the dark mahogany of the big desk.

With some amusement, she quirked a brow. "As flattered as I am by your words, I'm quite sure the sun would have reached you regardless of my presence."

"Okay, perhaps." He lifted his hands in acquiescence and nodded at the chair opposite him for her to sit. "But you do look very wonderful this morning."

"Thank you, Ben." She smiled and seated herself. "I also wanted to thank you again for letting me use that beautiful vanity table while I'm here," she said, watching him as he sat back down behind his desk. "It really is magnificent."

"You're very welcome, Madeline. It's nice to see some of Marie's things be put to use again."

She held his gaze for a few seconds to emphasize her sincerity. "It has . . . meant a great deal to me. More than you know."

He set his paperwork aside and a warm glow crept into his eyes, matching his lowered tone of voice. "I'm very glad to hear that."

They shared a long, silent smile. Madeline felt a pleasant warmth spread through her chest. There was no mistaking his fondness for her, it showed so openly on his face and she knew her own expression must look much the same. It made her intensely happy that they got on so well with each other. Not only because he was one of her uncle's dearest friends, but more because he was Adam's father.

And that reminded her . . .

"Where is everyone this morning?" she asked, looking around the room. "I thought you all would be up at this time?"

"On a normal working day, we usually are," Ben said as he leaned back in his chair. "Hoss went out to the barn a few minutes ago. I've got no idea what on earth he's up to. Yesterday he spent all morning out there too and the barn chores still needed doing when he came back into the house."

At his puzzled look, Madeline hummed quietly but didn't comment. This wasn't exactly news to her, she'd seen Hoss sneaking out there from her window a few times now.

"Joe must still be asleep," Ben went on. "He's unlikely to leave the comfort of his bed before the smell of breakfast starts wafting through the house. Hop Sing is just beginning in the kitchen now." He paused and steepled his fingers near his chin. "As for your uncle . . . I wouldn't be surprised if he's still sleeping too. I think your little chess tournament tired him out last night."

Her lips lifted as she remembered the previous evening."Yes, it did get rather late, didn't it . . ."

It had been such a long time since she'd seen her uncle so happy. He'd had the most delighted look on his face for hours and there had been much teasing and joking around—in between all the appropriate threats of retribution for the games he lost, of course. She'd loved every minute of their time together.

"Playing chess late into the night has become a little tradition of ours," she said, eyeing Ben. "I think Uncle Paul was very pleased to revisit it."

His brows raised just a fraction, Ben smiled in a knowing way. "Oh, I think you're quite right about that."

She wasn't surprised by his perceptiveness. Nothing went by Ben Cartwright.

"So . . ." She began, running a fingertip along the edge of the desk. "My uncle is asleep . . . as is Joe and you say that Hoss is in the barn. That leaves . . ."

Glancing up, she saw Ben observing her expectantly, sparkles dancing in his coffee eyes.

"Mmh, that leaves . . .?"

Smiling, she shook her head at him, too impatient to play games.

"I believe you have another son?"

He snapped his fingers. "Oh, _him_!"

She gave a little laugh, then asked softly, "Where is he?"

"Well, my firstborn showed himself briefly earlier. We talked a bit, but he retreated back upstairs," Ben said, glancing towards the staircase. "He must be in his room . . ."

Madeline absorbed the words as well as the subtle change in his tone. A sense of misgiving rippled through her and her cheerfulness shriveled to a knot of worry.

"Oh, all right," she said carefully.

Suddenly, Ben faced her head-on. The mirth had left his eyes completely and instead, a glint of something else flickered in his dark pools. For a moment the two of them just looked at each other and although they were quite silent, much was said through their locked gazes as some unspoken understanding flowed between them. Ben broke the connection first.

"Well, at least things between him and Paul seem to be getting better," he said, talking around the mutual concern they didn't need to voice. He folded his hands over his chest. "It's about time they cooled off. I don't know how you've been putting up with them, the way they've been behaving."

She nodded delicately, studying her hands. "I suppose they have been a little . . ." Pausing, she searched for the appropriate words. " _Caught up_ in themselves. But I'm sure they mean no harm really," she finished, well-mannered as always.

"There's no excuse for how they've been going at each other and with you caught in the middle. You've been more than gracious in your handling of it all." Ben shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Hmff, the pair of them, constantly ruffling each other's feathers . . . like two roosters caught in the same barn, they are."

A very apt description. Madeline bit back a smile. "Yes, well, it definitely wouldn't harm them to show one another a bit more patience and understanding."

"That's putting it mildly." With a snort, Ben threw up a hand. "They've shown about as much sense as twelve-year-old school boys, Madeline. I almost want to put the both of them over my knee despite their size and age."

She stared at him in surprise, startled by his bluntness, but then as the inevitable images of such a scene took form in her mind, a soft peal of laughter escaped her.

After a second Ben joined in, his booming voice coming alive with laughter. "It would be a first with Paul, of course," he said as his hilarity died down. "But Adam would object. I'm sure he remembers how unpleasant it was for him even though it's quite a few years ago I've disciplined him for misbehaving."

"Oh?" In a move that defied her ladylike manner, Madeline planted one elbow on the desk and rested her chin in her palm. "Was he very mischievous when he was younger? He doesn't strike me as the type of man who would have gotten into much trouble as a child . . ."

The amusement faded from Ben's countenance as a new expression, mild and wistful took over. "No . . . no he wasn't really. He was so rarely carefree enough to be mischievous." She heard the regret behind his words, and it tugged at her heart. "No, Adam was a quiet boy," he said. "Quiet and smart . . . a thinker."

An absent smile crossed his face and she guessed Ben must be visualizing a little boy with dark curls and dimples. Then his eyes cleared and settled on her.

"He never got into much trouble when he was a child, but there did come a . . . let's say an _interesting_ time of transition when he grew from boyhood to manhood. What I refer to as his _rebellious years_."

"Really?" Another word she wouldn't usually associate with Adam. Intrigued, she prodded, "In what way was he rebellious?"

"Oh, in the ways young men who start to discover themselves typically are. This was just before he went to West Point. Now, during the day, he never shirked his responsibilities," Ben said, holding up a finger to stress that point. "He worked hard along-side me and took care of his brothers. But at night, he used to sneak out and ride to town to visit the saloons with his friends— _rough_ friends whom I didn't particularly approve of."

"Oh my . . ." Madeline touched her fingers to her lips. "Did you catch him doing that?"

"No, but I figured it out and I told him what I thought about it. But I didn't outright forbid him from going. I wanted to let him assert a little independence and put my trust in him. I didn't think he'd be able to keep it up anyway—staying out so late and then working through the day with little to no sleep." Ben halted, stroking his chin as three thoughtful wrinkles lined his forehead. "But then there was this one incident . . . a big brawl broke out at the Silver Dollar. All his friends ended up in Roy's jail and Adam went right along with them."

She gasped. "Sheriff Coffee put Adam in jail?"

Slowly, Ben's mouth tugged into a smile. "No, Roy was out of town at the time. Thank God. And Adam was only behind bars for a short while. Actually, it was your uncle who went over there in the middle of the night and talked Deputy Miller into letting him out. The old deputy was fuming, naturally . . . but you know how persuasive Paul can be. He took Adam home with him and got a message sent to me. Needless to say, I was pretty much fuming myself when I arrived at your uncle's house."

"Goodness," Madeline murmured, sitting back in her chair. She would never have pictured Adam in such a situation. She also wondered why her uncle hadn't ever mentioned this. "Did he get into serious trouble for what happened?"

"No no," Ben quickly said, waving a hand. "Some witnesses came forward and it turned out Adam hadn't done anything wrong. He'd only stepped in to defend someone and got caught in the middle of the fighting." Ben threw a glance heavenward in excellent exasperated-parent fashion. "Of course, the foolish boy didn't say that because his sense of honor, loyalty—call it what you will—told him he should go down with that wild bunch of friends of his."

At that, Madeline had to smile. This was something she could imagine Adam doing.

She tipped her head to the side. "So, did he stop sneaking out after that then?"

Thinking on it, Ben leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. "He stopped sneaking. But he still went out, though at more sensible hours. And I had to accept, or _try_ to accept that he wasn't a kid anymore . . ." His voice trailed off and she saw again an almost regretful look chase across his features. "He did find new friends—better ones—which was a relief," Ben picked up again. "And then, with the way the girls took to him, there was really nothing I could do to—"

He stopped talking and shot Madeline a sidelong look as if unsure whether he should be sharing this information with her. She feigned a shocked expression.

"Mr. Cartwright, are you implying that your quiet little boy grew into a _lady's_ _man_?"

Her following teasing smile made Ben chuckle and relax. There was no doubt in her mind that Adam had been popular with the ladies when he was younger, just as he was at present. She knew how the single women of Virginia City felt about him—and some of the married ones, for that matter. It didn't bother her much. Not when she knew how he felt about her.

"Anyway, a lot has happened since all that," Ben said in quiet conclusion. "He's different now to how he was. _A lot_ different . . ."

"Yes, I imagine so."

She looked down at her lap and they both fell silent for a few beats. Until Ben spoke again.

"I hope you know that you make him very happy, Madeline."

A strange tone had come into his voice, one she'd never heard from him before and it made her look back up. He was watching her with an expression she couldn't place—soft yet penetrating.

"What you bring out in Adam . . . it's remarkable," he mumbled. "We all see it—how different he is when he's around you. You're very important to him. He needs you. Especially now." Dropping his head, Ben suddenly expelled and audible sigh as he lifted a hand to rub his brow. "I realize he can be _difficult._ And at the moment, he certainly is. But he doesn't mean to be . . ."

As the soft-spoken words crawled over her, Madeline felt her throat grow thick and tight. Gently, she reached out and touched Ben's arm. "I know he doesn't . . ."

The dark eyes lifted to meet hers. A few seconds passed, then Ben gave a faint nod. "Good."

His mouth turned up slightly and the ache in her chest eased. She smiled back, withdrawing her hand.

"Well." Ben cleared his throat as he shifted his attention to his desk. "I suppose I should get back to all this paperwork. I'd like to get through these figures before breakfast if I can."

"Yes, of course." She rose from the chair and smoothed down her skirt. "Perhaps I should assist Hop Sing in the kitchen then . . ."

In spite of her words, her gaze drifted to the staircase.

"You could do that . . . or go up and see Adam," Ben said behind her. "I think he could use your company."

Her heart turned over. She flicked him a tentative glance. "You do?"

"Yes." Ben picked up his pen and peered first at the stairs, then at her. "In fact . . . I think he needs it."

xXXx


	39. Chapter 39

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hi all!_

 _I was thrilled to receive such a warm response to the last chapter. It was so nice to hear that you guys are still following the story. To the members, A Reader and Guests_ — _thank you very much for taking the time to let me know what you thought of the chapter and which parts you particularly liked. :) It's very much appreciated._

 _Now, we've had some loose ends for a while now that will finally be tied up in this next chapter._ _I hope it isn't too heavy and lengthy and I'll fit some more action in soon . . . but yes_ — _Adam/Madeline scene coming right up!_

* * *

 **Chapter 39**

With Ben's words still ringing in her ears, Madeline stood in the hallway, her fingers fretting at the front of her skirt. All doors on both sides of her were closed, except for one. The one furthest down the hall, at the end. The door to Adam's bedroom. Despite Ben's encouragement, she couldn't shake her apprehension. Would Adam really want her company now? When he took to his room it was usually a sign he wished to be alone, she'd learned. Was she doing the right thing by approaching him anyway? It was so hard to know how to handle him these days. Much of the time, she felt as though she were walking on delicate ice with him. The last thing she wanted to do was to misstep and cause the fragile ground to break under him. Under them. Oh, but she ached to go to him . . .

Suddenly her feet were moving, taking her down the hall. Like she was being drawn there by some greater power. As she got closer, she saw the door wasn't left ajar as she'd anticipated, but it stood wide open. Reaching the doorway, she stopped.

And there he was. Dressed in his customary black clothes, he was sitting at a writing desk across the room. He sat forward on the edge of the chair with his elbows resting on the desk top—shirtsleeves rolled down, arms upraised, and his hands folded by his mouth. That particular sitting pose had the effect that his shirt clung to him like a second skin, outlining the strong curves of his shoulders and his magnificently sculpted back. From where she stood, she had an entrancing view of his profile. A lock of black, mussed hair fell across his forehead where his eyebrows dipped low and she sensed a tension along the hard line of his jaw, shadowed by a few days' worth of dark stubble. His eyes were somber, cast down at a sheet of paper on the desk.

Madeline drank in the sight of him as a riot of emotions welled up in her. This was the look she had come to know so well. From the moment she'd met him, she'd been sensitive to his brooding moods. She'd sensed early on that a dark side existed within him and she'd learned of the scars he carried as a personal burden—both the physical and the mental ones. There were things he simply didn't talk about, subjects he avoided. She had accepted that about him and still, she'd fallen in love with him. But the reality was that he'd gone from bad to worse. Although he tried to hide it—and oh, he tried—she saw more of him than he realized. She knew he was still struggling after everything that had happened these last few weeks. He was healing physically, but the rest of him didn't seem to be getting better. And that worried her. Lately, his moods varied rapidly, and his temper was often short. One minute he would be joking with his brothers, and the next he withdrew and shut himself off from everyone. A couple of times a day he would go out to the barn, using Sport as an excuse to be alone with the things that troubled him—with the thoughts he either couldn't or didn't want to share. And every time he came back to her, she was ready with soft looks and soft touches, never pressing him, demanding nothing of him.

Like she'd told Ben, she knew he didn't mean to be this way. Adam didn't mean to be . . . _difficult_ , as Ben had so aptly put it. But his behavior was starting to take its toll on her too. Because she wanted so desperately to help him. She loved him so much that his pain was now her pain. She wanted to care for him in the ways she believed he needed most. But how could she do that when he wouldn't let her? How could she reach him when the stubborn man didn't talk to her?

Watching him now, it was clear to her that he was having a bad morning. She should probably leave him to have his quiet time, let him deal with himself in whatever way he needed to, so he could get ready to face the day. But then, as she considered doing that, he moved at the desk. He took a long, deep breath—a breath that shook his shoulders as his head dropped lower. He unclasped his hands and rubbed his temples, then slowly ran his fingers up through his hair until his hands locked tightly behind his neck. And that was all it took. As if a dam had burst, emotion flooded her. It filled her chest, her heart, until the pressure became so great she almost couldn't bear it.

How could she walk away when he was like this? No, she just couldn't. Overflowing within her now was an intense need to be with him. And that need, overrode all other considerations.

Her brow was creased with worry as she knocked lightly on the door frame next to her.

"Good morning . . ."

Adam quickly straightened and turned in her direction. A weak, forced-looking smile flitted across his face.

"Good morning."

He stood from the chair, fumbled with, then folded the paper he'd been studying.

"Come on in."

Madeline took a small step into the room. "I hope I'm not interrupting . . ."

"No, it's fine." He motioned to his bed. "Sit down."

Cautiously, she walked in and glanced around herself, realizing she'd never actually seen his bedroom before. There were books, maps and drawings everywhere, but it was still neat and orderly. Very Adam. She stopped by the bed, covered with a dark blue quilt. _His_ bed. Even standing, she caught the enticing scent of him in the covers and a strong urge to breathe it in suddenly hit. She mentally shook herself. Now certainly wasn't the time for such thoughts. Taking a seat where he'd indicated, Madeline folded her hands in her lap and waited. Her frown reemerged when she noticed he was taking his time fidgeting by the desk. She could guess why. When Adam turned, that carefully composed mask had slid back into place. He came over and sat down next to her, angling himself towards her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, drawing one bent leg up under himself.

"Yes, very well, thank you. And you?"

"Yea, pretty good."

Madeline doubted that. He still looked tired, like he did most mornings. Not exhausted as he'd appeared a week ago, but far from rested. She swept a slow, assessing look over his face and in the silence, she realized he was considering her too. The open admiration in his gaze brought a blush to her cheeks.

"You look lovely today."

He flashed her that lopsided smile of his, sneaking his hand over to take hers.

"Thank you," she said with a timid smile in return, but continued to scrutinize him. She wasn't about to let him divert her attention with his charming ways.

Drawing a swift breath, she asked, "Are you alright?"

His gaze flickered like a flame but stayed on her. "Yes. I'm fine."

"You seemed . . . troubled when I first came in . . ."

She regarded him with a gentle look in her eyes. He turned away from her.

"I was just reading through something. But it's not important now."

"Oh. Are you sure that—"

"I said it's nothing, Madeline."

He started to withdraw his hand, but on impulse she caught it between both of hers and held on.

"You cannot keep doing this. I'm worried about you . . ."

The words flew out of her mouth unchecked like they'd come directly from her heart. She searched the features she knew so well, looking for any sign that he would lower his guard and let her in. A fragile hope blossomed inside her at the fact that he hadn't yet pulled his hand free. Certainly, he could easily break her hold. Or could he . . .?

Her body tensed in anticipation when he sighed. "I don't want you to be worried."

She nodded and responded quite simply, "Then you must talk to me now."

Working his jaw back and forth, Adam seemed to need a minute to process those conditions.

"I was reading a letter from Jim," he eventually said, his impassive countenance giving nothing away. "Roy brought it along when he stopped by last week, I've read it a bunch of times already. It's mostly about Henry, you know, about what he . . . what happened to him."

A sharp pang shot through her. "I'm so sorry . . ."

"It's all right." He shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "Like I said, it's not—"

"Adam . . ."

He stopped. Sat stiffly. Staring down at the floor. She trailed her fingers over the dark hairs lightly brushing the back of his hand.

"Please . . . don't shut me out," she said, her voice catching.

Warily, Adam faced her. Their eyes only met briefly before he lowered his. Madeline watched an all too familiar struggle play out on his face and almost felt bad for it, for pushing him this way. But somehow, she knew this was the right thing. The voice of intuition within her—the one she relied so heavily on when it came to him—was telling her now that this was right. Adam might not want to talk, but what he wanted and what he _needed_ were two different things. It was up to her to show him that. When he finally did speak, he made sure to keep his gaze below her own and his voice was tightly controlled.

"After the war ended, I knew Henry was in a dark place. But a lot of men were depressed in spirit, and I didn't realize how bad he was. Jim and I both assumed he was worn out like everyone else, we thought he'd get better again with time. He was always a hard one to figure." His lips twitched just slightly. "And hard to please. For four years he complained about me telling him what to do all the time and the minute I resigned my commission he started complaining about me leaving and not being there to order him around anymore . . ."

Adam's eyes took on a distant sheen and his mouth flattened to a stiff line. Madeline waited patiently, letting him speak in his own time.

"He was different in his letters. I noticed, but I didn't get it. He seemed confused, lost." A shadow crossed his face as he went on. "That's why I invited him here. I thought I could help him by keeping him occupied until his furlough ended. It was always the plan he would come out and visit anyway at some point. He wanted to see the Ponderosa, the lakes, the mountains—all the spectacular sights I'd told him so much about over the years. I was gonna teach him a thing or two about ranch work. For the life of him, the guy couldn't sit a horse . . ."

It was the first time his voice wavered, and Madeline's chest twisted and tightened in response. Roughly, Adam cleared his throat.

"It almost worked, I guess. Jim wrote he'd seemed happy about the invitation—it was all he talked about for a couple of days at least. But in the end, it just wasn't enough."

He went quiet and stared off at some point far beyond the room, his expression showing nothing of his thoughts. Even so, understanding swept through her as she regarded him, a deep tenderness filling her heart. He was such a good man, so honorable, so caring of others. So terribly hard on himself.

"There was nothing more you could have done to help him from here, Adam . . ."

The muscles in his back tensed. He sat very still. His guarded demeanor told her he wasn't ready to hear those reassuring words, nor would he accept them. She wasn't sure he ever would.

"Some people would condemn him for his actions," he suddenly said, his face growing dark. "After _everything_ we . . . he survived four years of war only to die by his own hand. Some would consider it a shameful act. They'd forget his bravery on the battlefield and remember him as a man who despaired."

His voice was hard-edged now; sharpened with tension, with a cutting note of challenge. Intended to sting. But Madeline didn't shy away from him. She met his tone with her usual soft and calm cadence, her kind eyes never leaving him.

"I think it's very wrong to pass judgement on someone without having any knowledge or true understanding of the personal suffering, the terrible pain and tragedy they might have been forced to endure. There is no shame in despairing . . ."

The furrows across his brow deepened, a muscle ticking away in his jaw. Instinctively, Madeline began stroking his hand—lightly and gently—from his fingers along his palm and down to the underbelly of his wrist. Fully aware that he was too lost in his inner darkness to respond to the touch. If she didn't know this man so well, she might have been frightened by him. By his unapproachable manner when he got this way, by his severity and the frigid, harsh air that seemed to envelope him. But Madeline understood him, and she felt for him with all her heart as he wrestled with the pain, the grief and the unresolved feelings that still lay brutally suppressed within him. After some time, the tension uncoiled and eased out of his shoulders in slow degrees. When his posture slumped, she knew the internal storm that had arisen in him, had come to rest again. For now.

"Did Henry have any family?" she asked quietly, still caressing his hand.

Adam glanced her way. "His mother and father died when he was very young, it's just his grandparents left now. Jim went to tell them in person."

"Oh no . . ." Pinching her eyes shut, she said a silent prayer for those poor people. "It must have been so awful for them."

"Yes . . . I thought about writing them. I met them when we arrived in Washington for the celebration back in May."

She tipped her head at a questioning angle. "And what is stopping you from writing to them?"

"I'm not so sure they'd want to hear from me."

"Why not?" she probed. "I certainly think they would want to hear from you. You were a dear friend of their grandson."

He finally turned, and very tentatively, looked at her. His eyes, so rich in color, so deep with emotion, held an unexpected vulnerability that made her breath catch in her throat. "I wouldn't know what to say . . ."

Madeline swallowed hard.

Then, she lifted a hand to his cheek, smiling, although her lip quivered dangerously. "Anything. Tell them your fondest memory of him. Tell them what his friendship has meant to you. You could write a bit about the high Sierras and lake Tahoe—the places Henry loved to hear you talk of. I think it would mean a lot to them to hear about something that was special to their grandson, something that brought him joy and comfort in his dark times."

Adam leaned heavily into her palm. "You really think that . . ."

"Yes, I do . . ."

His chest heaved with a sigh. "I don't know. Maybe . . ."

She wouldn't press him on it, not now. But she hoped he would decide to write that letter. It might be his only way of finding some measure of peace with this terrible tragedy. He closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed along his temple and she could feel he was done talking. His weariness showed her how much it took out of him, revealing himself to her. But it was a start. She couldn't risk pushing him too much. Now, it was time to leave this painful subject and hopefully, lighten his mood. Make him smile again.

She suddenly felt very grateful for Ben's subtle urging earlier. If not for him, she would have missed this chance to reach out to Adam and offer him the comfort she knew he very much needed. It occurred to her that Ben must have realized the same thing.

"You know something?" she said, her voice muted, drifting through the silence. "Your father is a very wise man . . ."

Adam opened one eye to peer at her. "Is he really . . ."

His tone was tired and showed no surprise at the sudden addition of his father to the conversation.

"Mhmm."

She smiled at the tiny, upturned twist of his mouth when he closed his eye again. As often before, she marveled at how he calmed and relaxed under her touch as she stroked his handsome face. This was all she really wanted, to make him feel better. To soothe him. And she had one other thing in mind, an idea she hoped would lift his spirits.

"I have been wondering . . ." She ran her fingers tenderly over his sideburn, into his dark hair. "Have you considered inviting Jim here for a visit? I thought it might give you both something to look forward to." A genuine smile shaped her mouth. "I would like to meet him too."

She quickly recognized the change in Adam's demeanor. He stiffened slightly. Then he opened his eyes and pulled away from her.

"There's no point in me doing that."

Madeline sat as though she had been frozen in place. Confused by his reaction, she slowly lowered her hand as he took up fiddling with the bandage around his left arm.

"It was only a suggestion," she said cautiously. "It wasn't my intention to—"

"There's no point," Adam cut in, "because he's already on his way here."

Her lips parted in mute surprise. "Jim is coming here? But, that's wonderful!"

The stunned smile never managed to settle on her face before it stiffened and died away. There was something off, a wariness to Adam's appearance that was all wrong. Abruptly, he stood from the bed as if he couldn't sit still for another second. He began pacing restlessly, back and forth in front of her. Feeling even more bewildered, she followed him with her eyes. Eventually she spoke up, careful to keep her tone mild.

"You don't seem very happy about him visiting . . ."

"He isn't exactly coming just to see me," Adam said, somewhat curtly.

"He isn't?" Madeline frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is—" He stopped pacing and dragged a hand down his face, the rough rasp of his whiskers sounding very loud in the quiet room. "It's not just Jim coming here, Madeline. My whole company will be here in a month or so." Correcting himself, he added a dark mutter, "Well, they're not _my_ company anymore."

Her stomach dropped. His company? They were coming out here? But why? The questions ran rampant in her head, leaving her mind in disarray.

"I . . . don't understand . . ."

She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so fragile all of a sudden. It just came out that way—small and wobbly. Adam faced her in a heartbeat. The tautness drained from his face, replaced by a soft expression that made her feel even more vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I don't know why I'm . . . I don't mean to act this way."

Exhaling in a rush, he tilted his chin up to the ceiling as if expecting to find answers to his behavior up there. Madeline shuffled on the bed, uncomfortable. After a considerable silence, he appeared to come to a decision and strode back to the bed. He sat down next to her and picked up both her hands.

"Before the war, the army had troops stationed all across the frontier. When the fighting began, the regulars were ordered East and volunteer infantry and cavalry units were organized here to replace them. Now that it's over, thousands of soldiers have either been mustered out or been reassigned to other posts," he explained, rubbing her hands with his thumbs. "As you know, many have remained in the South to help rebuild the Southern states, but a lot of regulars are being sent West to take over for the volunteer regiments. The way things are out here, many feel that it's necessary to strengthen the military presence on the frontier."

Madeline swallowed in an attempt to force her mounting unease back down. "You mean because of the conflicts between settlers and the Indian tribes?"

He gave a slight nod. "For the last four years, most of the country has been focusing its attention on the East while a lot has been changing in the West. With white civilization constantly pushing in on tribal lands, the conflicts between us and the Native tribes aren't likely to get better."

A chill of premonition slithered down her spine. "So more soldiers are coming out here . . . to _fight_ against the Indians?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not just to fight them," he said. "They'll be taking on a string of duties such as guarding wagon trains and overland routes, preventing wars between tribes, protecting Indian reservations from encroachment of settlers . . ."

"But . . . but there will be fighting?" she pressed, feeling out of her depth in this conversation. Surely more soldiers meant more fighting? More war?

Adam regarded her intently for a long instant. "Some Indians have taken hostile stances and might refuse to negotiate peace. If they present a threat and don't surrender . . . then soldiers will confront them, yes."

Madeline's mouth went dry. The truth was there, she saw it in his gaze. His eyes carried over a harsh, uncompromising certainty about what was to come.

"It's happening everywhere out here Madeline, you know that." His attitude mellowed as he began stroking her hands again. "In the Southwest with the Apache . . . in the Powder River Country with the Lakota. Here in Nevada, our problems are mostly with the Snakes."

"The Snakes . . ." she repeated, struggling to navigate her disordered mind. "Is that—"

"It's a term for the Indian bands living around Snake River; the Shoshone, Northern Paiute, the Bannock."

"Yes, that's right . . ."

Before she came to the West, Madeline had never even seen an Indian before. So far, the encounters she'd had with local Natives in Virginia City had sparked feelings of wonder and intrigue in her, not fear. She was sure the people she'd met presented no danger.

"More Indian families have been coming to live around the outskirts of Virginia City . . ." She pasted on a smile in the hope it would cover her unease and add a light tone to her voice. "They certainly mean no harm, they have been so friendly, Adam. Uncle Paul has even provided some women and children with medical attention . . ."

"And they're exactly the people who might need protecting from hostile tribes and from harassment of settlers." He locked his eyes to hers. "The army is supposed to represent the power of established order, something that's missing out here. At least, that's the hope."

Madeline nodded slowly as everything he'd told her began to settle in. Adam definitely had a way of explaining something quite unnerving in a calm, methodical manner. She blinked, trying to clear her head enough to focus on just one thought.

"And you are saying that _your_ men . . . are among those soldiers being sent here?"

"Yes. Jim confirmed they're on their way."

"I see . . ." She let that sink in. "And how . . . when did you—"

"I've known they were coming for some time now. Since late July."

At his words, her heart gave a sharp wrench, wiping her mind free of everything else.

"Oh . . ."

The sting in her chest was ruthlessly unexpected and she bowed her head, feigning intense interest in a ribbon on her skirt.

"Madeline?"

She couldn't even look at him, let alone speak. Perhaps it was silly of her, but she felt just a little bit . . . _hurt_ that he hadn't mentioned this to her before. It must be important to him and yet he hadn't wanted to share it with her.

"Honey . . ." He gave her hands a squeeze. "I know I probably should've told you. I just wasn't sure how you'd feel about it . . . my old company coming here."

Her eyelashes flickered rapidly, like the wings of an injured bird. She eased her hands free of his and laced her fingers together in her lap, smoothing her features into what she hoped resembled a collected expression. Then, she faced him.

"How do you mean?"

"Well . . ."

Adam didn't seem to know how to occupy his hands now. One shot through his hair.

"It's kind of a side to me that I don't . . ." He paused uncertainly. "You've seen me handle guns and that, but this is a part of my life that you haven't . . . well, you know what I mean," he finished with a vague hand gesture.

As if that explained everything perfectly.

"No, I'm afraid I don't," she replied softly, letting him hear her regret.

In response, he rubbed a hand over his mouth. And tipped his head up to consult the ceiling once more.

Madeline watched him anxiously, waiting for an explanation that didn't seem to be coming.

"Adam . . .?" she ventured.

Several seconds passed and she began to wonder if he would react at all.

"I just assumed it would bother you," he finally blurted, turning to her.

". . . Bother me?"

"Yea." He peered up at her from under his brow. "Doesn't it . . .?"

Bother her? The only thing that slightly bothered her right now was this strange idea he seemed to have that he should think for everyone else and guess how they might feel about something without consulting them. As much as she loved him, he evoked great displeasure in her at times. She remained quite still, struggling to speak around the tightness of her throat.

"Why would you think I'd be bothered by this? They are your friends . . ."

A frown fell over his face. "I know it's going to bother my family so—

"How do you know this? Have you discussed it with them?"

Obviously flustered by her interruption, he stared at her, his mouth hanging open a moment.

"Not exactly. I mean, my father knows but we haven't really . . ." He scratched his neck. "Hoss and Joe don't, and I just couldn't . . . it's difficult . . . difficult to—" Suddenly, he shook his head fiercely. "Look, it doesn't matter, okay? Just forget about it."

Twisting around, he shifted on the bed—repositioning himself firmly a few inches away from her. Physically withdrawing from the conversation. The silence seemed to vibrate with tension as she eyed his profile fixedly.

 _Forget about it?_ Certainly not.

"No, Adam," she said calmly. "I really think we should—"

"Well I don't. We're not having this conversation."

She was surprised and distressed by his brusqueness. "But you are clearly very upset by this . . ."

"I'm _not_ upset." His jaw tightened. "I just don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Please, I'm only asking why you thought—"

"I don't know what I thought Madeline!" he bit out. He jerked his hands up and forced them so harshly against his temples, she flinched. "Everything is just too . . . I don't even know what I'm _thinking_ . . ."

One second, she was completely stunned. The next, Madeline melted inside. In an instant, her own hurt was set aside as her compassion took over. She saw very clearly his confusion, his insecurity and his pain—how all of it was being kept at bay, _just_ _barely_ , by his bluster and frustration. And for the first time she truly realized how powerless Adam was in all this. How lost he was when it came to his emotions. He didn't know how to handle them, and he knew even less of how to put words to them. Right now, he was so overwhelmed by everything he carried around on the inside, he was reacting outwardly in the only way he knew how—with gruffness, and by drawing away. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she looked on, helpless, watching his struggle. She knew that one day, this protective shell he'd created around himself would break. It was so filled with cracks already, it simply had to. And when that time came, she would be ready for him, ready to take whatever terrible things might pour out. But that time was not now, however much she wanted it to be. She sensed that he couldn't let that happen yet. She needed to help him some other way. And the first step was to deal with one issue at a time.

Armed with yet a deeper level of understanding of him, Madeline composed herself. She fixed a gentle but unwavering gaze on him and spoke in a voice smoothed with kindness.

"You are glad the company is coming here . . . aren't you?"

Adam kept his hands up, shielding his face from her view. "It's complicated."

Was it? It seemed simple enough to her. Yet again, her patience prevailed.

"Does it not make you feel happy that you'll have the chance to see them again soon?" she tried.

With great effort, it seemed, he lowered his hands.

"Yes . . ."

He drew the answer out in an odd way—like a child admitting to some wrong-doing.

Madeline smiled faintly. "Then why would I not share your happiness with you?"

Adam didn't seem to follow her. He just stared at her, his head slightly tilted, indicating he was listening and waiting for more.

"Those soldiers were your life for four years, Adam" she said quietly. "The bond you share with them is special, I understand that. I understand that you went through . . . a lot together and that a part of you must miss them. I may not know much about these things. About the army and its protocols and such . . ." Glancing down at her lap, she continued, "But that does not mean I wouldn't like to. After all, it's part of _you_." She gave him a tender look. "And what is important to you, is important to me. I suspect your father and brothers might feel the same way."

Her words had a remarkable impact. She saw how the storminess of his hazel depths was settling. The deep line etched between his brows smoothed out. Finally, he released a long, tired sigh.

"I'm sorry, Madeline . . ."

He looked utterly forlorn just then and a loving smile came to her lips.

"It's all right."

She scooted along the bed to be beside him again, closing the distance between them.

"But, perhaps in the future, instead of just assuming how I might react to something, you might try . . . well, speaking to me about the matter."

She failed to keep the exasperation completely out of her tone, but it was tempered with obvious affection. Adam sat sideways to regard her more fully, something akin to silent wonder shining in his eyes.

"You have a way of making things seem very . . . straightforward," he mumbled. "Simple."

"And you, sir"—she put her forefinger to his scruffy chin—"have a way of making things that really are quite simple, seem awfully complicated."

Just as she had hoped, his expression lightened, imperceptibly. A subtle trace of amusement touched his lips, though he was clearly fighting it.

"I don't make things complicated," he muttered, looking down. "That's just the way they get, all by themselves . . ."

"Oh really?"

"Mmh."

"I beg to differ. I know of a few other people who would too."

She trailed her fingertip up to the corner of his mouth and rubbed softly. He moved his face away a bit, as if to evade her touch, but her finger followed and finally, she coaxed his half-smile out. The sight made her heart flutter and spin with joy. Oh, she loved that smile. His hand came up and took a firm hold of her wrist to stop her antics, but Madeline didn't mind. She'd accomplished what she set out to do. After such a morning, after all this heavy conversation, she'd needed to make him smile, if only briefly. Adam shut his eyes, looking beyond weary now, but also less troubled. More at peace than she had seen him in days now that some of all that pent-up tension had been released.

His shoulders lifted high with a tremendous breath as he spoke. "I don't know how you do that . . ."

He raised his head to look at her. There was a strange expression on his face now, one that took her off guard. He slid his gaze over her features in a caressing fashion, with such intensity it almost felt like a physical touch. Madeline's own smile faltered under his perusal. Sudden heat crept up her neck and color seeped into her cheeks. And then, when she was least prepared for it, his gaze captured hers. A breathless moment followed. She had never looked into another person's eyes the way Adam did with her now. It was like he was seeing things about her that no one else could. Things _she_ didn't even know about herself.

"You're amazing," he murmured.

To her complete astonishment, Madeline felt the sharp sting of tears at the back of her eyes. It wasn't the words themselves but rather the way he said them that affected her so. Her chin dipped.

"No, look at me."

Adam's tone was a perfect balance of commanding and soft. She blinked hard once, then lifted her head. And he said it again.

"You're _amazing_ . . ."

Madeline wanted to say the same thing back to him, but the words wouldn't come out. Her throat constricted as a staggering swelling of love filled her, making it impossible for her to speak. He knew. She could tell he did. Stroking over her knuckles with his thumb, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. At that, the smallest sound escaped past her lips. It was so faint, scarcely even a sigh, but Adam heard it. He looked directly at her. Something flickered in his eyes. Something that gradually turned dark and smoldering. Her heart skipped a beat, then resumed with a slightly faster pace. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep any more inappropriate sounds from getting out, but it was too late. The heat in her face was already spreading throughout her body. Adam straightened, towering over her. His gaze drifted down to her lips and lingered there. With the flick of his tongue, he licked his own. He raised his eyes to hers again—his pupils coal-black and dilated against the dark gold of his irises. Madeline felt spellbound, unable to draw her eyes away from him. She could do absolutely nothing but watch as he turned her hand over and lifted it. Slowly, painstakingly, he pressed his mouth to the sensitive inside of her wrist and grazed a feather-light caress part way up her forearm, pulling her sleeve up as he went. Instantly, her pulse jumped and jittered. She had never been touched there, never in such a manner before. The intimacy of the act was a complete shock to her system.

"We should get ready for breakfast," she suddenly announced. There, her voice had returned. But it was too unsteady, far too breathy.

Adam's stare didn't waver in the slightest. "In a minute."

A shudder ran through her at the roughened sound of his voice. Hot and tingly, her skin prickled everywhere with new awareness. Awareness of him. Of his body. Taller and broader than her own. Images flashed through her mind from that night in her room when he had kissed and touched her in ways she'd never even known existed. Was he about to do that again? For the past week they'd maintained an appropriate distance, most of the time. But now it was just them, in his bedroom. On his bed. Alone. Unsupervised. Madeline's pulse thundered in her ears as he moved into her space. Oh, this was terribly improper, her mind screamed. Improper. Utterly thrilling. A pulsing ache—still unfamiliar, unexplored—stirred and began to build inside her as he leaned forwards. She couldn't deny that she wanted him closer, _much_ closer. She wanted to feel what he'd just done to her wrist, on her lips. It had been too long since he'd kissed her. And yet, although she wanted it, the nearer he came to her—the more anxious she felt.

"Adam," she managed in a choked whisper.

He halted. "Yes, Madeline?"

But that was all she had. She couldn't say anything else. Some sort of realization eased the intensity in his expression. He started leaning towards her again, his eyes hooded.

"You feel it too . . . don't you honey?"

What was _it_? How was he creating such havoc inside her?

"I'm . . . I—"

She braced her hand against his front, a feeble effort to stop him. Entirely the wrong course of action as it happened, because her palm encountered the strong muscles of his chest and the contact sent a bolt of sensation zinging through her body. Instead of pushing him away, she ended up curling her fingers into the top of his shirt. She was so dizzy, she needed something to cling to. But then . . . was she tugging him closer? Oh, Lord what was her hand doing? And why was he allowing it? Closer, he came, close enough that his intoxicating, male scent washed over her and made her head spin. Her eyes slammed shut.

"It's all right sweetheart . . ."

So deep, so husky. His breath was a caress on her face. Mere inches from her lips. She sensed him shift, knew he was coming and at that crucial moment, she turned her cheek to him. She inhaled sharply when his mouth touched her skin. Another sound, louder this time and even less controlled, emerged from her throat. He kissed her. His lips skimmed along her cheek, creating a blazing path all the way down to her chin. Somehow, she vaguely realized, he'd managed to slip his arm around her back without her noticing, and his hand now rested on her hip, making her flesh tingle beneath the layers of cloth. Deep in her belly, that slow pulsing intensified to a strange coiling . . . what was it? _Excitement?_ Oh, she didn't know. She just didn't know. He nipped at the corner of her mouth, lightly. In a bolder move, his tongue swept out to graze her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her. He nuzzled the side of her face, nipped at her again. She trembled under his ministrations as her need for _more_ continued to grow. More of him. More of everything he was doing to her. His mouth, gentle yet demanding, finally covered hers fully and his tongue probed, coaxing her to open to him. Helplessly, she succumbed to his cajoling and parted her lips. Fire erupted within her when his tongue slipped inside and tangled with hers. A fire that he had ignited and now nurtured by touching and tasting her, by letting her taste him. His hand roamed upward from her hip, _tantalizingly_ , stopping by her rib-cage. More flames flickered to life, searing through her and melting to a pool of heat in her lower body. She felt like she was burning up, inside and out. Unable to hold back, she moaned into his mouth and he responded by pulling her closer to him. He deepened the kiss, her fingers dug deeper into his shirt and then . . . everything froze at the sound of voices out in the hall.

xXXx


	40. Chapter 40

**Author's Notes**

 _Guys! :) Your reviews on the new chapter had me smiling and laughing out loud! It was a challenge to write and your reactions have been much more than I could have hoped for. It's so rewarding to know that you enjoy these Adam/Madeline moments (it was about time he got a kiss!) Well, you made me so happy that I just had to change some things around and now I can post a little bonus chapter for the weekend. We're picking up right where we left off..._

 _I hope you enjoy it. :)_

 _A Reader, Guest and Members - Thank you for being so wonderful, and I wish everyone a great weekend!_

* * *

 **Chapter 40**

The air rushed from Madeline's lungs as Adam jerked back. His breathing was hot and choppy, fluttering over her flushed face. They sat dead-still, staring at each other as the voices exchanged morning pleasantries out in the hallway. Within seconds, there was chuckling and thumping footsteps heading off, becoming fainter and fainter. Until the silence was restored. Adam stared at her a second longer, his eyes churning, unsated. Then he fell forward, buried his face in her hair and released a curse on a frustrated breath. A small part of her brain—the last functioning part—wanted to admonish him for saying that word. But her heart was tumbling so helplessly out of rhythm, speaking was beyond her.

"I'm sorry . . . but I don't know how much longer I can do this," he breathed. The raggedness in his voice snapped Madeline out of her daze and she made a conscious effort to calm her racing pulse.

He jolted backwards again, withdrawing his hand from her waist. "It's driving me crazy that I can't—that we can't be—"

"I know," she heard herself say, and he froze.

Their gazes merged, hot and sizzling. "You do . . .?"

"Yes . . ."

Well, she thought she did. Or she knew some of it at least. But as she was beginning to realize, there was quite a lot she _didn't_ know, apparently.

"I feel the same way," she said.

They studied each other as a burning, mutual need lay wordlessly between them. Adam took a deep breath and leaned his brow against hers. He reached up to ease her fingers free of his shirt, making her realize she hadn't yet let go. It seemed her senses were still reeling from his kiss. Not only that, her whole body was still tingling—fiery and frighteningly aroused. Before Adam, she had never even imagined that a kiss could evoke such astounding responses. It was probably for the best they'd been interrupted. Not _probably_ —it _was_ for the best—a relief, her mind asserted. A relief laced with disappointment.

Hoping he wouldn't notice, Madeline discreetly slipped the tip of her tongue out to touch her lips. The taste of him lingered there. She did wonder what he might have done if they hadn't been disturbed. What other exquisite kinds of devilment he might have shown her with his skilled mouth. Where his hand might have roamed _next_ , from her waist _. . ._ Just a little higher, perhaps, and what then, might it feel like to have him touch her—

A door opened in the hall, reminding her in a flash that there was still a world outside of Adam and this room. Suddenly a long-abandoned sense of propriety rushed over her, dousing her heated body like icy water. For heavens sake, she was supposed to be a lady with manners and here she was, in Adam's bedroom, on his bed, entertaining . . . _fantasies_ about him! Indecent ones! What wouldn't he think of her? More than a little startled at herself, Madeline leaned away from him.

"We really must get ready for breakfast now, Adam."

He held onto her hand. "I'd rather starve and stay here with you."

At that, her mouth did curl up a fraction. "That is a little dramatic, don't you think . . ."

"No."

She shook her head at him and stood up, praying her legs would hold her and not drop her in a heap on the floor at his feet. Bravely, she took a step away from the bed. She brushed down her skirt and tucked a curl behind her ear. Needless actions really, which served only the purpose of buying her time to gather some composure. It worked, to a degree. Glancing up, she saw that Adam was still sitting, watching her thoughtfully.

"Come on," she said, adopting an airy tone, she hoped, as she reached for his hands. "We don't want to upset Hop Sing."

With a groan, he rose. "Hop Sing or Paul?"

"Well . . . both, I suppose."

Holding onto his wrist to make sure he followed, she minced across the room. But just a few feet from the door, Adam suddenly stopped.

"Wait, wait a minute." He turned her around and pulled her to him before she could protest. "I've got an idea."

Madeline had to tilt her head back to look up at him, so tall he was. If she didn't, her face would be in direct line with the open collar of his shirt and more to the point—with those dark, curling hairs peeking out.

"An idea? And what might that be?" she asked distractedly, wondering where to rest her hands which were presently dangling uselessly at her sides. She wasn't hesitating for lack of options. After all, right there, inches away were his broad shoulders and his powerful arms. It would have to be one of those two, she decided. Any place other than his . . . chest.

"Madeline?"

Her mind blanked and she gaped at him. "Excuse me, I . . . didn't hear you. What did you say?"

 _Oh Goodness, no_. He looked amused.

"I _said_ we could go for a walk today if you're up to it." That slow smile played along his lips as he slipped his hands around her back and drew her closer. "Just the two of us. We can get some fresh air and go someplace where we won't be . . . constantly interrupted."

"Oh."

She fervently wished that some easy way existed of loosening her corset at that instant. Clearly, she'd made a misjudgment and tied the thing much too tight this morning.

"Would you like that honey?" he asked, his voice going deep, rumbling through to her very core. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"Some fresh air sounds . . . very nice."

 _Air_ in general, really.

"Mmh. I agree . . ."

It was by no means new to her, being in his embrace like this. But her senses were still heightened from their kiss and Madeline found that being this close to him—being literally wrapped up in all that potent masculinity—was having a decidedly unsettling effect on her. She stared at him, already drowning in the compelling depths of his hazel eyes. When without a hint of warning—without so much as a thud of a footstep or the creak of a floorboard—Joe came striding into the room.

"Hey Adam, help me with this will ya . . ."

Apparently so used to just walking in, he'd almost plowed into them by the time he looked up. He came to a halt and stood there bare-chested, holding onto a bandage that was halfway wrapped around his ribs. A devilish smirk seized his face. With a jolt, Madeline came out of her shocked state and immediately moved to disengage herself. Something of an undertaking since Adam didn't remove his arms from around her.

"Well, well . . . good morning, Madeline," Joe said slyly. He turned to Adam and jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. "Older brother, you do know the doc was just out in the hall here, right?"

"Don't you ever knock?" Adam snapped.

"Your door was wide open."

"Adam!" Madeline whispered urgently, tapping his hands for him to let her go.

Grudgingly, Adam released her and spun to his brother. "What do you want Joe?"

Joe's mouth drew into a scowl as he tossed his hands up. "Nothing, never mind . . ."

Fumbling with his bandage, he headed back out of the room, muttering to himself.

"No, Joe wait," Madeline called, giving Adam a very flustered but dissatisfied look. "Please come back, I will help you."

Joe stopped short at the doorway and wheeled around as she rushed over to him.

"Thanks Madeline. It's nice to know that _someone_ cares about my well-being." His voice vibrated with annoyance as he looked past her to fix Adam with a glare. "What a bundle of joy you are this morning!"

"I am sure that Adam didn't mean to be . . . impolite," she said diplomatically and shot an encouraging glance back at the older, supposedly wiser sibling.

He appeared to have nothing to add.

"Sure, he didn't," Joe grumbled. "Like he never does these days."

Still, Adam said nothing. Seemingly effortlessly, he assumed that accustomed air of flawless self-possession and casually walked over to them. He stopped right in front of Joe and propped his shoulder against the wall—his expression entirely neutral apart from the faintest curving of his mouth. Joe stared back at him. Slowly but surely, the younger man's scowl faded, and a smile took its place instead. Madeline watched the whole exchange, feeling a mixture of relief and puzzlement. She must be missing something. A brother thing.

"How's your eye?" Adam asked.

"Better, I guess. At least I can see through it again." Gingerly, Joe felt the yellow-greenish bruising above his eyelid. "And after today, the doc says I don't need to wear this anymore." He pointed to the bandage. "I hate sleeping with it on, the thing keeps coming loose, see?"

Madeline hummed in understanding as she maneuvered the dressing around him, making sure it wasn't too tight but still snug enough to provide stabilization.

Adam raised a brow. "If Paul was just out in the hall why didn't you get him to help you?"

"Come on, you know why. I can't take any more of his fussing. Besides . . . it's much nicer when Madeline does it." Twisting his head around, Joe winked at her. "Your hands are real soft."

Like every female who encountered that notorious Joe Cartwright charm, Madeline was not unaffected. She responded with a blushing smile. However, when she saw Adam's eyes narrow, she swiftly secured the bandage.

"This isn't too tight, is it?"

Joe inhaled, then exhaled. "Nope, it's perfect. Thanks."

"You are welcome. Now, perhaps you gentlemen would join me for breakfast."

It was no question. Before either of them could utter a sound, she wedged herself in between them and laced an arm through each of theirs, ushering them out of the room. She needed a cup of tea. And a sit-down.

They were halfway down the hall when Adam spoke over her head at his brother.

"So, are you planning on putting on a shirt or you just gonna—"

"Oh, right!"

With a burst of boyish energy, Joe bolted away from them and disappeared through the door to his room. Madeline's lips quirked up when she heard Adam mutter something that sounded close to f _ool kid_. As they continued towards the staircase, she noticed how he cradled his left elbow to his side.

"How is it today?" she asked, gently reaching for his arm.

"It's getting better."

She considered the bandage with a frown. "It's been a few days since Uncle Paul looked at it. He might want to later . . ."

"He can try."

Madeline slowed her pace. She was quiet when he turned to her, knowing the displeasure on her face spoke for itself.

Adam blew out a breath. "Alright. I won't pick a fight with him."

"Thank you." She took his hand as they approached the top of the stairs. "Actually . . . Uncle Paul has seemed much quieter lately . . ."

"Yea, I know," he said in a heavy tone, rubbing his brow as if to soothe a headache. "I didn't handle that very . . . I guess I'm not handling things very well at the moment."

Her chest clenched. She squeezed his hand and pitched her voice low when she heard Joe catching up to them.

"You've had a lot on your mind . . ."

"All of us have," Adam mumbled as they descended the stairs. "That's no excuse."

From behind them, Joe's eager voice all of a sudden called out. "Hey, is that Hop Sing's pancakes I smell?"

Nose in the air, he bumbled down the stairs while buttoning his shirt and almost slipped on the landing.

"Watch where you're going Joe," Adam admonished in an almost fatherly fashion. "You want a broken neck to go with those bruised ribs?"

"Alright, alright, simmer down there, cranky."

"Cranky? I'm just showing how much I care about your well-being, _little brother"_

"Okay, you can care a bit less, _much_ _older_ _brother_."

Madeline allowed herself a subtle smile. She clearly heard the shift from bickering to banter between them. It slightly eased the worry gnawing at her gut. After the difficult morning he'd had, she took it as a good sign that Adam was up for some brotherly ribbing. She hoped to keep his mood as light as possible for the rest of the day.

The trio moved towards the dining room where the welcoming smell of fresh bread and fried bacon and sausages wafted through the air. In truth, it was impressive that Joe's practiced nose could detect the scent of pancakes amidst all that and at a distance. Ben, Hoss and her uncle were already seated at the table and all three stood when she approached, smiling warmly. Her uncle's eyes sparkled as he pulled her chair out for her.

"You look very wonderful today, my Belle."

"Thank you, Uncle Paul."

Spontaneously, she rested a hand on his shoulder and stretched up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He faced the rest of the table and beamed like a child who'd just received a stick of candy. Madeline took her seat next to him and Adam sat down to her other side, at the head of the table, opposite his father. She noted how Ben gave his firstborn an appraising once-over right away. Evidently satisfied with what he saw, he aimed a small smile at her. She smiled back. Well, at first, she did. But then her cheeks grew increasingly warm and prickly as she thought of how her well-intended little visit to Adam's room had ended. She highly doubted that Ben had had any such thing in mind when he'd encouraged her to keep his oldest son company. Positive that her face must be turning an impressive shade of scarlet, she banished all thoughts of the kiss from her mind. To busy her hands, she poured herself some much needed tea from the pot standing by her plate. An instant later, Hop Sing came bustling out of the kitchen, carrying platters of eggs, bacon, sausages and, indeed, pancakes.

"Doggonit that all looks good," Hoss exclaimed. With a scrunched forehead, he tucked his napkin in at the top of his shirt. "I feel hungry as a bear this mornin'."

Joe snorted, grabbing the pancake platter. "You're hungry as a bear every morning."

The big man's forehead scrunched up even more as if he was assessing the truth of his brother's words. Then he grinned. "Yeah I reckon I am at that."

Taking a slice of bread for himself, Ben addressed the table at large. "So, what does everyone have planned for today?"

"Nothin' much."

"Me neither Pa."

"Madeline and I are going for a walk," Adam said, pouring himself some coffee.

His words were for his father, but his eyes were fastened to Madeline. She focused her gaze to her tea cup, feeling as though she must have broken some record of how many blushes one lady could possibly fit into one mere morning.

"A walk, huh?" Hoss said, a forkful of scrambled eggs barely chewed in his mouth. At Ben's stern look, he quickly gulped. "That sounds mighty good! Hey, I know what we could do Adam"—he jabbed a chunk of bread at his brother—"why don't we take Miss Madeline down to Hoss Heaven? You ain't been there with her yet, have ya?"

Adam's mouth opened, but Madeline spoke before he could.

" _Hoss Heaven_? What is that?"

"It's Hoss's very own piece of land. Quite a charming area," Ben said, passing the biscuits along. "I'm sure you would like it."

"It ain't that far from here neither. We could ride there in the buggy—there's lots of places to go walkin' around. It's nice'n quiet-like too, great for relaxin'." Bashfully, Hoss looked down at his plate and pushed a sausage around with his fork. "There's even a little stream and some flowers . . . If'n you wanna pick some, I could show ya where."

Madeline went soft like pudding and regarded him affectionately.

Adam cleared his throat. "Actually Hoss, Madeline and I were—"

"That sounds very nice Hoss," she interjected. "I would love to see this Hoss Heaven of yours."

"I'll be more than glad to show it to ya, Ma'am."

Very happily, Hoss dove back into his scrambled eggs.

Biting her lip, Madeline snuck a peek at Adam out of the corner of her eye. His expression left her in no doubt as to how he felt about this development. She offered a delicate shrug of apology. A sudden choked noise broke the silence and she turned to her uncle as he brought a napkin up to cover his mouth.

Adam's sharp eyes cut into him. "You alright there, Paul?"

"Oh, yes," He thumped his chest with a fist. "Quite alright."

Joe snickered but was silenced immediately when Adam sent a withering glare his way.

Madeline's attention shifted between the three of them until she noticed Ben was watching her. His coffee cup hid his mouth, but she spotted the glimmer in his eyes just before he blatantly rolled them heavenward. She was forced to face away from him to avoid laughing.

"Well, I think that's a real good idea you had yourself there Hoss," Joe said into the lengthening silence.

Chewing cheerfully, Hoss made a muffled sound around his food.

Joe held a spoon above his plate, watching as a dollop of thick syrup drizzled down to his waiting stack of pancakes. "I've been meanin' to take a ride out there myself one of these days. Like you said, it's a great place for relaxing. . . ." He looked sideways at Adam, a lazy tilt to his lips. "As a matter of fact, I think I might just go along with you."

Without taking his eyes off Joe, Adam masterfully speared a piece of bacon with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. Rather than comment, Madeline opted for a sip of tea. Everyone ate quietly for some time and Hop Sing came out to fuss around the table, bringing more food with him. Madeline kept throwing glances at Adam, hoping he wasn't really unhappy with her. Wood creaked loudly when her uncle shifted and sat back in his chair to view the window behind Ben.

"It is indeed a splendid day for a trip out," he remarked.

Setting her cutlery neatly at the side of her plate, Madeline placed a hand on his forearm. "Would you care to join us, Uncle?"

He waved her off. "Oh no no, I couldn't possibly."

Yet another silence. One by one, all heads turned to Adam who was examining his coffee cup. His eyes flickered up, then back down to the cup, then up again.

Finally, he flung a hand into the air. "The more the merrier."

The doctor's mouth lifted pleasantly at the corners. "If you insist. I do have quite a bit of work waiting for me, but I suppose I could take a few hours out of my crammed schedule and spend them with you all."

Adam smiled tight-lipped. "How . . . gracious of you."

"Yes," the older man drawled. "Yes, I know."

Patting her uncle's arm, Madeline shot Adam a grateful smile. Although she very much wanted to spend time alone with him, the prospect of an outing with all the people she cared about genuinely did delight her. And she really wouldn't want anyone to feel left out. A day outside together might be a good thing for Adam as well.

"Ben, then you must come with us too," she said brightly.

Ben lowered his cup and placed it precisely on its saucer. "I could do with a break from all my paperwork. And I think it's safe to say that we could _all_ use some fresh, clean air to _clear our heads_."

He eyed his firstborn and his old friend pointedly.

"Ain't that the truth," Hoss mumbled and lightly elbowed Joe who giggled and half-choked on his pancake.

"It's a little late in the year for a picnic," Ben continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But if we put on some warm clothes, we should be fine."

With a decisive nod, he turned towards the kitchen, but as he opened his mouth to call out, a grinning Hop Sing came hurrying forth, his black pony tale flying behind him. "I start picnic now, Mr. Cartlight. I make plenty sandwiches and pack cookies Missy Madeline make yesterday."

Chuckling, Ben picked up his cup and saluted him. "That would be perfect Hop Sing, thank you."

Everybody resumed eating, but while the others fell into conversation about the coming excursion, Madeline was acutely aware of how Adam became quiet. He concentrated on his plate, his lips puckered slightly inward, his head hanging low. She caught the way he picked at his food, recognizing that he was doing a lot more pushing it around than eating it. Her cheery mood crumbled as a stab of pain pierced her heart. She feared the change of plans had truly upset him. And that was the last thing she'd wanted to happen—especially today. Without a thought for who might be watching, she reached over and placed her hand over the top of his resting on the table. Hoping he wouldn't reject her. He raised his chin and her gaze moved over him, carefully, willing him to see her concern, her regret. Willing him to understand that she was prepared to change everything again—that she would do whatever it took—whatever _he_ needed. There was a spark of something warm in his eyes and one side of his mouth rose. Just enough to give a hint of dimple. He turned his hand under hers so his palm was upward and he could enclose her fingers with his own. Reassuring her. She felt as though a weight eased from her chest—no longer crushing her yet it didn't lift completely. When she smiled faintly back at him, he released her hand with a squeeze and returned to his food. She did the same. But that peculiar ache which had taken hold of her heart remained. As the sounds of conversation and cutlery went on around her, Madeline was the one to fall quiet. Something struck her then, a strange slide of realization. That the intensity of her feeling for him was devastating as it was beautiful. That this ache in her chest was for him—proof that it was possible to love someone so much that it hurt. That he came _first_ before all and everyone else and there was no going back. The way she felt about Adam, she knew she would probably spend the rest of her life worrying and fretting over him just as surely as she would love and care for him.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hi everybody!_

 _Firstly, I have to thank you all for so many and for such sweet reviews on the last chapter. Guests and Members, you are amazing. The fact that so many of you like Madeline makes me very happy (thank you for the reassurance!) but I know she won't be everyone's cup of tea and that's perfectly fine. One dear Guest put it better than I ever could; Madeline is a woman of the times and feels the need to be respectable. But heck, she's still a woman and she's being courted by Adam Cartwright and they are very attracted to each other. In this next chapter, I thought we should have Adam's take on the situation. :)_

 _Thank you Reader, for your ever wonderful reviews and it brings me great joy to know that this story is worth a second read. :)_

 _I have no excuse for taking so long with a new chapter other than I had a bit of writer's nerves. But here it is at long last and I hope it has turned out okay. We're going for that picnic! I'm almost finished with the next chapter too which will be up in a few days._

 _I hope you're all well and happy and I wish you a great week!_

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

They couldn't have picked a better day for the picnic. A week into September now, late summer was creeping into fall and the weather was crisp and clear. It was almost as if the recent rains had washed the air clean after a long, sweltering August. The sky blazed limitless blue with not a wisp of cloud in sight. They went to Hoss Heaven as planned, which was a unique section of the Ponderosa and every bit as heavenly as its name suggested. As a matter of fact, it was the very picture of tranquility, complete with a flowery meadow nestled by the side of a slow-moving river. Bathed in the golden light of the afternoon, the meadow lay as a brilliant expanse of emerald green, bursting with blossoms in every hue. The tall grasses waved gently in rhythm with the breeze, like in a slow waltz. Along the east side of the field, the river flowed lazily—the unstirred surface of the water like a perfect mirror, reflecting the sky. Dense woods enclosed the rest of the meadow with stately pines and firs hugging it protectively, and above the tree tops, the mountains soared with majesty—purple-grey peaks with pine-dressed slopes. The place was indeed like a piece of heaven fallen on earth.

To Hoss' evident delight, everyone agreed that the serene surroundings were perfect for the picnic. Or, _almost_ everyone did. As it turned out, absolutely nothing about the weather or the setting, suited Adam's mood.

He was sitting in the shade of a tree, cross-legged, back propped up against the rough bark. The woolen blanket under him did very little to cushion his rear end against the hard ground. Every time he shifted, various tree roots and sharp twigs popped up to jab at him. One very outspoken blue jay had decided that out of the thousands of branches in the vicinity, it would sit on one directly above Adam's head where it kept piping up in a jarring, high-pitched noise. And if all that wasn't enough, the glaring sunshine that everyone around him thought so highly of was mocking his foul mood.

It seemed Mother Nature had some elaborate plot against him.

Adam muttered a quiet oath and slumped forward, pressing the heels of his hands against his aching eyes.

The ride out had been unpleasant, for him at least. Despite the slight chill in the air, he'd felt hot and uncomfortable. After ten minutes on horseback, he needed to shrug out of his jacket because the bandage around his arm had become damp with sweat which aggravated his wound. Probably something Paul would have wanted him to mention. He hadn't, of course. He hadn't said a word to anyone during the ride. Once they'd found a spot to sit down for their meal, he did try to pay attention to the conversation going on between the others. But he was just too preoccupied to be sociable and he'd had trouble focusing on anything properly. Actually, he couldn't even remember now what sandwich he'd eaten. It had been a relief for him when everybody had finished eating and gone off to do their own things. All Adam really wanted to do at this point was to sit in the shade, _alone_ , with his unsettled thoughts.

Currently what he was doing.

His legs had gone numb from sitting cross-legged for too long. It didn't help his mood any. Slowly, he stretched them out, gritting his teeth through the expected onslaught of pins and needles shooting up from his feet. It was several painful seconds later before the sensation wore off. He crossed his ankles and moved, or rather shoved, a stuffed picnic hamper aside to make more room for himself. Typical of Hop Sing, sending them off with enough food to feed a regiment. How the cook had managed to fit all their picnic supplies onto the buggy was beyond him. Facing out towards the meadow, Adam felt around the blanket with his hand, searching for his coffee. He found the neglected cup, picked it up and tipped it against his lips. Unexpectedly, a cold liquid trickled into his mouth and in his dismayed surprise he sat forward with a lurch, managing to spill some of the drink down his shirt. He could just imagine the bizarre, sour look he must have had on his face. As if to drive the point home, that fool bird screeched at the top of its lungs from above—a drawn-out, shrill sound that unquestionably equaled a howl of laughter in bird-language. Adam tilted his face up and glared at it. Tiny thing like that, daring to ridicule him. He swore he could see its beady black eyes staring down at him. Glowering, he swallowed the sip of coffee in his mouth and set the half-full cup back down.

Damn bird. Damn cold coffee. Damn this day.

Wiping his chin and now damp shirt, Adam looked ahead at the meadow again, to see Madeline. Instead, what met his eyes was the ridiculous sight of his two full-grown, rowdy brothers picking flowers.

Hoss and Joe were sticking up out of the high grass—their heads bent, faces set in serious, engrossed expressions. Both of them carried a brightly colored bundle of blossoms. Hoss plowed through the field with about as much grace as a buffalo looking for a mud hole, and left a ragged, bending path behind him—conspicuous as a trail would look in new-fallen snow. Joe followed and had, unbeknownst to him, a scattering of rosy flower petals poking out of his confused chestnut mop. For a little bit Adam just watched them, his annoyance diminishing slightly under a pinch of amusement. Every now and then, when they seemed to think they'd discovered a particularly pretty flower, they went to show it to Madeline who was gathering her own bouquet nearby. Like a pair of puppies jostling for approval and attention from their mistress.

Adam snorted and shook his head at the spectacle. It was strange how everyone he knew acted differently when in Madeline's presence. How they behaved in ways they normally wouldn't—all because of her. She never even needed to ask anyone for anything, which she so rarely did. She just had this way about her that made people naturally want to do things for her. And with her. Heck, he should know. He hadn't forgotten that time when he'd somehow ended up baking an apple pie with her in Paul's kitchen. That was just Madeline. She drew people in with her beauty, with her caring nature, and then, she captured them with the kindness of her smile.

Hoss especially, looked like he was having a fine time with her at the moment. He grinned goofily as she accepted a bright orange flower that he must have insisted she should have. Watching them, Adam felt a spike of jealousy as well as a stir of guilt. Just a few hours ago, he'd entertained not so brotherly thoughts about squashing his big-hearted sibling's face into a plateful of scrambled eggs. And by now he'd realized that Hoss had, in his exasperatingly innocent way, actually done him a favor. If not for this irritating Hoss Heaven idea, he might have made a very big mistake. Like their father had predicted at breakfast, the fresh air had indeed helped clear his head, and as Adam now examined himself in this ruthless clarity, he recognized that his initial plan to go for a walk with Madeline alone had been a bad one. In light of what had occurred in his bedroom earlier—going _anywhere_ alone with her today would have been nothing short of madness.

Sighing, Adam tipped his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. Going back, in his mind, over what had happened with Madeline.

She had done that thing again. She'd approached him in a weak moment when he wasn't prepared for her and she'd broken down his walls. To smithereens. She'd reached for him with her compassion and she'd touched that compact knot of emotions and pain he harbored inside. And by doing so, she'd gotten him to open up. About painful things he'd deliberately kept close to himself. Under her gentle handling, that tight knot had loosened ever so slightly. Naturally, he'd behaved like a fool, as was his habit when under emotional strain. As always, Madeline had been sweet and understanding. And patient. God, she'd been patient. But the conversation, troubling as it had been, wasn't what bothered him most now. What had occupied his mind all day, was that kiss.

Thinking about it made his body shudder with a delayed spasm of pleasure even as he cringed inside.

He'd let himself get carried away. Again. He had no business kissing _or_ touching her like that. This was the second time he'd done it and like once before, they'd almost been caught. It was as if his brain shut off, logic deserted him when he was with her and his body took over and acted the way his instincts urged him to. She just had that effect on him. Of course, he'd sensed her hesitance, her nervousness. But Madeline had always been that way with him when it came to these things—ever since that first time he'd ever kissed her, at Silver Creek. He wasn't stupid, he understood why now. Given her past and everything that had been done to her, her apprehension when it came to physical intimacy was hardly surprising. And yet, this morning he'd moved in regardless, mindless and overcome by love and passion. All too eager to chase that sweet responsiveness that he knew he could draw out of her—if she let him. He had tried to go slow and reassure her. But then, that spine-tingling moment had come when his heart seemed to stop, and he'd finally seen in her confused eyes the very emotion he'd been looking for. _Desire_. And in the same, thrilling second he saw it, he'd realized that Madeline didn't fully understand herself, what that feeling was.

That, in and of itself, should have been enough to stop him. It should have at least made him pause and think about the implications. But despite knowing what he did, he'd acted a true madman and gone right ahead and seduced her into a kiss anyway. Yes, _seduced_ her. And it wasn't just any kiss, but the sort of kiss that held all the intentions of much, much more . . .

His gut tightening at the recollection, Adam abruptly opened his eyes. Shimmering sunlight streaked through the branches above him. The blue jay was watching him through its little black beads, like it could read his thoughts and now knew what he had done. It stared condemningly. Which he deserved.

God knows how far he would have taken things with Madeline if they hadn't been interrupted. He had no right to put her in such a vulnerable position. And then, after having lost control of himself in the most reprehensible manner, what had he gone and done a minute later? Tried to cajole her into going for a private walk with him— _just_ the two of them. He cursed his lustful little mind. Hell, she'd probably been relieved when Hoss had jumped in with that Hoss Heaven suggestion, offering her a way out. The fact that she'd so obviously felt sorry for him only made him feel worse.

" _Idiot_ ," he muttered to himself. The bird threw its head back and belted out a squeal, seeming to agree.

Adam stared up at it. The creature had some nerve. He gave it the most ferocious scowl he could muster. The bird looked quite unmoved. Showing no visible signs of distress, it began to preen its feathers.

Cursing ardently, Adam sat up again, scrubbing his face with his hands. His palms encountered coarse bristles and he grimaced. When was the last time he'd shaved? It probably hadn't even been very nice for Madeline, kissing him. Deepening his breathing, he massaged the sore cluster of tension between his brows.

He needed to get a grip on himself. He couldn't be doing things like that with her, not before they were married. From now on, he had to do right by her. That meant putting all his other concerns at the back of his mind so he could concentrate just on her. It also meant getting around to having a proper talk with Paul. He had to clear the air with the doctor once and for all before he proposed to her. It was the honorable thing to do. A sense of dread enveloped him at the prospect, especially considering the scalding argument they'd had the last time he tried to broach the subject. But then, something inside him hardened. He would try to make his friend understand his feeling for Madeline but if that didn't work, then Paul would just have to accept that he was going to marry her sooner or later. Preferably, sooner.

The distant sound of her voice jolted him out of his reverie, causing Adam to look up. She was holding a hand by her mouth, rushing through the meadow with Joe. They headed towards the only visible part of Hoss, which was his brown hat floating above the grass. Adam's gaze tracked her intently. The grass went almost up to her hips and she looked so beautiful like that, floating on green, sunshine in her hair. A few more of her long tresses had escaped her up-do and the red and green colors of her dress matched her surroundings like it had been made for the scene. He liked that dress on her. A lot. It clung to her in all the right places. It accentuated her womanly curves in exquisitely pleasing ways. A shiver crawled the length of his spine as he remembered how soft the material had been when he'd touched her earlier. He wondered if the fabric was soft like that on the inside too. Against her bare skin. His brows drew together as he considered that because obviously, she wore other things under that dress.

White, delicate things that ladies wore . . .

Adam tugged at his shirt collar. All of a sudden, just as he was becoming hot and noticeably bothered, Madeline was gone from his view as a curious horse snout appeared inches from his face. It nuzzled his neck in quick greeting, then dove down to find his palm—the place where apples and other goodies sometimes magically sprouted.

"No boy," Adam mumbled, holding up his hand. "I haven't got anything."

Sport snorted and bared his teeth as though grinning and saying, "Yea, good one, Master."

He moved to eagerly sniff his shirt instead.

"I said no." Adam patted the silky muzzle, then pushed it away. "Now go. Go."

His upper lip curling, Sport made a series of squealing grunts. He stretched his neck up and stood tall, towering over Adam. Then, with a regal bearing, the chestnut turned and walked off again, his tail jerking sharply from side to side.

"You better watch out he doesn't throw you on the way home for that," a deep voice called.

Adam glanced left and saw his father coming towards him from the riverbank, carrying his hat in one hand.

"Madeline gave him plenty of snacks earlier," he replied, turning back to observe his departing horse. "He's already had more than his fill."

"He doesn't seem to agree with you."

As if to confirm the sentiment, Sport twisted his head around and cast a mean look at his human.

Adam's mouth curled up a fraction. "He's just being moody."

"Mmm. He isn't the only one."

The words were muttered in a low tone, but the message was quite clear. Adam angled a look at his father who'd stopped over by the small camp fire they'd built earlier to brew coffee.

"You got something you wanna say?"

Ben cocked a dark brow. "That depends. You want to tell me what's on your mind?"

For a prolonged, defiant second, Adam held his eyes. Then, he faced forwards again.

"Nope."

A pause.

"And you're sure about that?"

"Positive."

Damn right he was sure. A lecture from his father on gentlemanly conduct was the last thing Adam wanted on this already-loathsome day he was having. Not to mention, it would be pretty embarrassing to be scolded for risqué behavior at the age of thirty-one.

A muffled thud sounded just beside him and without looking, he knew that his father's hat had just been tossed onto the blanket. Next, the man materialized before him. Adam had to crane his neck to look up at his face. Hands on his hips, Ben lowered a disapproving gaze down upon him, adopting—to perfection—the stance of exasperated parent preparing to chastise unruly child. Involuntarily, Adam squirmed.

"Fine, so you don't want to talk to me about it. But I'm going to ask you to stop acting like this."

Averting his eyes, Adam let a note of irritation tinge his voice. "Acting like what? Can't a guy have a moment's peace in the shade without being hassled?"

"Well now, I'm sorry for hassling you son, but this whole brooding-under-a-tree business isn't good for you and to be honest, it's tiresome to watch."

Adam crossed his arms. "I'm not brooding."

"Really." Exercising that left eyebrow again, his father thrust a hand at him. "Then what do you call this?"

He offered a slight shrug. "Thinking."

It was fairly impossible to maintain any degree of dignity with his old man looming over him.

"All right," his father said, giving three slow, calculated nods as his hands returned to his hips. "But, while you're here doing all this _thinking_ of yours, Madeline is worrying about you."

Adam frowned. "What are you talking about?" He indicated the meadow with a jerk of his chin. "She's out there with your two budding florists."

Ben fetched a deep, long-drawn sigh, looking like a man whose patience was rapidly nearing its end. "Yes, I have eyes, I can see that," he said with exaggerated forbearance. "But I've also seen how she looks over at _you_ every other minute with a concerned look on her face just as she did repeatedly during the ride out here and just as she has done ever since we arrived. Maybe you were so busy _thinking_ , you didn't notice."

Adam's heart sank like a lead weight. _What?_ He faced out towards the field. Madeline stood next to Hoss who was once again upright, if looking somewhat rumpled. She smiled slightly at something he said. And just a few seconds later, her gaze slid in Adam's direction. Her smile faltered as their eyes connected and even from here, he could make out the worry lines forming across her forehead. Promptly, guilt roared through him, deafening and sharp. He ducked his head. How could he have missed that?

"Look, I know this trip didn't turn out as you would've liked it to," his father went on, "but don't you think you're being a bit unreasonable? The poor girl can't be everywhere at once."

Adam found it difficult to speak. Very aware now that outwardly, his behavior was that of a little kid who hadn't gotten what he wanted. In his continued silence, he felt his pa's stare intensify.

" _Well_ , son?"

That was a two-worded command for and answer or at the very least, eye contact. Not to be ignored. What little sense Adam had left, warned him of that. He began to raise his head, hoping to come up with some response that would be defensive and poignant enough to end this disturbing talk, but as he looked up, all he could do was gape.

 _The bird_.

It was no longer above him. Now it was perched on a branch directly above his father's head. Staring down at him, unblinking, with its bottomless black pellets. The creature had moved to get a better view of the dramatic scene.

 _You're enjoying this, aren't you?_

"Adam!"

Adam's eyes jerked back to his father. For one horrible moment, he thought insanity had finally claimed him and he'd spoken out loud to the blue jay. He saw a wide range of puzzlement mingled with annoyance in his father's features. And suddenly, everything was too much. Half a day's worth of simmering frustration boiled over as Adam jolted back against the tree trunk, throwing his arms out.

"I don't know what to say, all right? I don't know what you want from me, Pa!"

An oppressive silence fell around them as the outburst died. Adam lowered his head, unable to look his father in the eye. He knew full well he was out of order, but as he'd learned over the years—attack was the most effective defense—and this was what he resorted to when someone backed him into a corner. Or in this case, a tree. At least fifteen seconds went by where nothing happened. Then, Ben moved. Adam sensed him step around to his left, push the picnic hamper away and sit down next to him.

"Are you really that offended about Madeline accepting Hoss' offer?" he asked. "You know how your brother can be. With the position he put her in, she couldn't really do much else. She just didn't want to hurt his feelings."

There was no irritation to his tone, just that probing parental concern. Adam's guard lowered, an instinctive response, and his whole body seemed to sink.

"No, I guess not," he said with soft surrender. "You uh . . . you think that's why she did it?"

He snuck a glance at his pa to see his reaction to the question.

A deep furrow divided Ben's eyebrows. "Why else would she?" His eyes took on a calculating gleam. "Is everything all right between you and her?"

Adam rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure. I mean, I hope so. Except . . . I kind of behaved like an idiot with her this morning," he confessed, then stilled, slightly alarmed that he'd let that information slip so easily. "But I don't want to go into it," he quickly added.

A mute ahh shaped his father's mouth. "And you think that's why she agreed to Hoss' idea instead of going for a walk with you?"

Adam lifted a shoulder. Silently, he flicked something invisible off his pants.

"Frankly, I doubt it," Ben said.

Something about his tone made Adam turn back to him and he found his father was wearing a subtle, touch-of-smug smile that gave the impression he knew something Adam didn't. "But if you're really concerned then maybe you should just talk to her about it."

Inwardly, Adam groaned. That advice sounded peculiarly familiar.

"As for you behaving like an idiot earlier," his father continued conversationally, "Well, in my experience—limited experience as it is, of course—in order to make amends for stupid behavior a man has to first break the cycle of foolishness."

Adam's gaze narrowed on him. "Meaning . . .?"

"Meaning you have to stop sitting around here like a brooding fool and get out there."

He waved out at the meadow to clarify. He employed his stern tone of voice, but it somehow didn't match the little crinkles by his eyes. Nor the twinkles playing in his dark depths.

A ghost of a smile worked itself onto Adam's face. His father twisted sideways and reached for the picnic hamper, rummaged through it and fished out a book.

"That was a whole lot of wisdom you crammed into this little discussion," Adam mumbled, watching him.

"I try, son. I try."

He flipped the book open on some random page and began reading. Two sentences later, he looked up. "Well? Off with ya boy!"

He actually swatted him. With a resigned shake of his head, Adam pushed forward and slowly raised himself off the ground. He bent to pick up his black Stetson, all the while keeping his eyes locked on his pa who pretended to be emerged in the book. Then he straightened and slammed the hat on his head.

"Thanks, Pa."

Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and strode off towards the meadow. Admittedly, it was an admirable skill, his father's ability to make him feel about nine years old in such a brief interaction. Adam grimaced. He didn't know how the man did it. He was only glad that there hadn't been any witnesses about for this. Well, except for the feathered beast. Speaking of, behind him he heard three piercing squawks. They came in quick succession, sounding almost like chanting. He looked back over his shoulder. The bird's little body did a hop on the branch. Was it urging him on? Or was he losing his mind? Adam decided to believe the former. As he resumed his course, he found he almost appreciated the support. He didn't feel confident at all about what was about to happen. With Madeline in his sights, he headed out into the field, unease coiling in the pit of his stomach.

xXXx

Grass swooshed and flowers nodded merrily around him as Adam made his way through the meadow. Madeline stood with Hoss and Joe in the center of the field, but they hadn't seen him approaching yet. He was glad of that because he must have made an odd sight—a lone figure dressed in all black, surrounded by all the colors of the rainbow. He felt out of place here. He'd fitted better in the shade. Madeline belonged perfectly, amidst the colors, the light and the serenity. She was the closest thing to an angel on earth so it made perfect sense that she would look at home here in Hoss Heaven. But Adam didn't belong. In any kind of heaven. Still, in his heart he knew that being with Madeline meant that he sometimes had to go to places where he didn't feel comfortable. In order to get to her, he had to follow through with this.

Steeling his resolve, he pushed on through the grass. He pulled his Stetson lower across his brow, his nostrils twitching. The air was scented with the sweet fragrance of the blossoms, blended with a faint tang of pine. He dragged in a deep breath, trying to infuse his body with some of all that tranquility surrounding him. As a result, his stomach flipped over. This wasn't going to go well. He could feel it. His tension was growing with every step he took towards her. He felt the weight of his guilt as though a dark, errant cloud hung over him on this perfectly cloudless day. Now that he knew she'd been worrying about him, he felt like an even bigger idiot. Who would have thought it possible. Barely out of the shade for two minutes and he was already sweating. His shirt clung uncomfortably to his skin as he neared her. Madeline stood with her side to him and the sound of her voice was clear now as she said something to Joe, but Adam couldn't decipher her words. The pounding in his head was too disturbing. His thoughts raced to fast for him to focus. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks and his knees went startlingly weak. He didn't even know what to say to her. Where did he even begin? There was no excuse for any of his behavior today.

And then, as if she'd sensed his eyes on her, Madeline turned her head. The rest of her body quickly followed when she spotted him, and a ray of relief glided over her countenance. A fresh slice of guilt knifed through Adam's chest because now it was painfully obvious to him, the worry floating in those huge green pools of her eyes. Clutching her neat bouquet of flowers against her belly, she finished what he'd started as she walked the last few feet between them.

"Hi . . ." she said tentatively as she stopped in front of him. Hesitating briefly, she reached out and ran her hand lightly down his arm to his hand. His muscles tensed under her touch. She squeezed his fingers carefully, and his heart contracted. It was a welcome he wasn't worthy of.

"Did you have a nice rest in the shade?" she asked.

There was such hope in her voice. Adam attempted a smile but knew he failed. The shame filling him wouldn't permit it.

"Yea . . ."

That was all he managed. He fought to get his voice to cooperate. But Madeline didn't seem to expect any sort of explanation from him, she just said, "That's good." Her face brightened a little as she stroked over his knuckles. "I'm glad you came out here."

Her kind smile, her soft voice, her soothing touch. He didn't deserve this woman. Yet, he absorbed it all, greedy and needy as he was, he accepted the comfort her presence gave him because he just couldn't help himself. He wanted it so badly. He concentrated on her, on the caress of her fingers as she soothed something deep inside him. His thoughts began to settle, and he felt himself calm. Gathering himself, he looked straight into her eyes, took her hand and enclosed it within his. He made another attempt at a smile and this time it felt more sincere. It must have been because her own smile seemed to lift higher. There was still a trace of wariness in her expression though, reminding him of the reason he was here, of what he needed to say.

"I uh," he began in a halting voice and glanced around them, "Look, about earlier, I—"

"Hey Adam!"

Adam winced at the inconvenient interruption. Great. Hoss and Joe chose _that_ moment to finally notice him.

Both of them grinned from ear to ear as they rushed over and came to a halt on either side of Madeline.

"You dang well snuck up on us there, older brother!" Hoss exclaimed and gave Adam a slap on the back that almost set him coughing.

"We better keep an eye on him, Hoss," Joe said with a smirk, "I think he was trying to lure Madeline away with him to someplace in the shade."

His lungs still disconcertingly rattled, Adam almost choked. Avoiding Madeline's eyes, he quickly released her hand and opened his mouth to deliver some comeback, but his kid brother was already onto other matters.

"Here you go Madeline," Joe said, holding out a flower to her, "I found another one of those purple ones. The petals are kinda dangly though."

"Thank you, Joe."

Smiling faintly, Madeline accepted the blossom and searched for the perfect place for it in her bouquet. As Adam breathed slowly to compose himself, he took notice of their three flower bundles. Madeline's bouquet was an arrangement of harmonizing colors in purples, pinks and whites, elegant and dainty, just like her. The color cohesion was rather disrupted by one bright orange blossom, but nevertheless, she'd chosen to place it in the center of the bouquet as if it was the most special of them all. Joe's flowers had a bolder color scheme in shades of yellow, orange and fiery red—a real handful of warmth and cheer. And Hoss' flower bundle, twice the size of the other two, was an uproar of color. Adam found himself on the brink of being amused. It looked like his brother had tried to find a different shade with every flower he'd picked.

"What do ya think Adam?" Hoss asked, noting his perusal. With a crooked grin, he lifted the vibrant bunch right up to Adam's face. "Ain't they a sight?"

Adam cocked his head to the side as he considered the blooms, one corner of his mouth inching up. "Looks kinda like weeds to me."

"Oh Adam," Madeline chided in her soft tone. Her sight fell to her own bouquet as she rearranged a few blossoms. "They're wildflowers . . ."

Even when chiding him, she was delightful.

"That's right, Adam," Hoss jumped in, frowning and taking offense on behalf of the plants. "They're about the prettiest flowers I ever came across. Ain't that right Miss Madeline?"

"I must agree with you Hoss."

Opening his hands in a gesture of placation, Adam spoke calmly. "All right, I stand corrected."

Hoss gave a jerky nod. He began fretting over his flowers, his bottom lip still protruding slightly. Adam stole a glimpse at Joe. The kid looked greatly entertained by the exchange. Hoss continued to poke and fuss over the blooms, arranging them into some neat order that existed only in his imagination. Adam regarded him with a half-smile as he folded his arms across his chest.

"So, how's this segue into floristry comin' along for you?"

The big man screwed his face up. "Hah? My what?"

Beside him, Joe released a chortle. Adam's amusement grew when he caught Madeline's struggle to keep her lips straight as she took a few steps away from them to examine a group of blossoms.

"I don't know why ya always gotta say strange things like that when they don't make no sense," Hoss grumbled at him.

"Sorry." Adam tamed his smile and gestured to the flowers. "What are you gonna do with them? Sell them in Virginia City? Have them on your desk in your room?"

A deep ridge appeared in Hoss' forehead. "I reckon I ain't thought of that yet."

"Perhaps there is a young lady whom you might like to give them to," Madeline suggested as she bent down to look closer at a white flower.

The tips of Hoss' ears turned red at impressive speed. A strangled sound escaped Joe, like smothered laughter. Adam resisted the urge to look over at him. When Madeline received no answer, she threw a questioning glance at Hoss.

"I can't rightly think of anyone, Ma'am," he muttered, searching for his boots in the grass.

A silence formed.

"Well . . . there's always Cora Beth," Joe offered.

At that, Hoss snapped his head up. "You kin just stop right there shortshanks." He eyed Joe fiercely. "There ain't no way I'm givin' that gal anythin'. No flowers, no nothin'."

"It was just an idea, big brother," Joe said, smiling deviously.

"And a dang harebrained one at that. I'd just as soon tangle with a wildcat!"

"Okay okay, keep your hair on. I don't know what you've got against her. She's still sweet on you, everybody knows that, and there was a time when you were pretty taken with her. Personally, I think you're perfect for each other."

Adam looked back and forth between his siblings. He had a feeling they were just getting started.

"I dun told ya Joe, me and that Cora Beth ain't never goin' together again after what happened at the last box social. That lady's just . . . doggonit, you saw what happened! She's plumb loco!"

"Oh, come on Hoss, you can't still be sore over that . . ."

The rest of Joe's reply blurred as Adam deliberately turned his mind away from their conversation. Content with not knowing what had transpired at the last box social, his eyes and thoughts went to Madeline instead. She didn't seem to be listening either. She appeared to have retreated into her own little world as she wandered around just a few feet away. Her face was directed downwards while her fingers glided over the vivid buds. He saw the flicker of her lashes as she scanned the flowers, and the soft upward curve to her lips. The hint of smile bloomed into cute dimples when a mischievous butterfly flitted straight past her dainty nose. A chuckle rose in Adam's throat, but he quickly repressed it, unwilling to make a sound for fear of disturbing her. He could watch her forever like this. She bent to study many flowers closely, even ones that, to him, looked nothing special at all. She'd stopped plucking them though, he noticed. It became clear that she just spent her time smelling and admiring the blooms as her fingertips lightly grazed over them. Like she wanted to connect with as much nature as she could. Adam's chest swelled and if it was even possible, he loved her a little bit more. He loved that her innocent eyes saw such beauty in something so simple. That her heart took such pleasure in things as small and ordinary as wildflowers. That she looked so natural and peaceful in this little world of hers and that her feelings showed so effortlessly upon her face. Yes, he could happily keep watching her like this. But it wasn't to be. Because again it was as if she had some special sense that told her he was watching her, and she lifted her head and gazed at him. His eyes didn't waver, and she offered a curious, slightly hesitant smile. His body, which seemed consistently unreliable whenever she was near, did not disappoint in its reaction now. His muscles seemed to turn liquid and his heart felt as though it might lift right out of his chest and take to the sky. He hoped his return smile wasn't as shaky as she made him feel. A pretty pink stained her cheeks and she tipped her face down. She didn't look up him again. He kept observing her as she moved a couple of steps away to look at more flowers. He began a debate in his mind on whether or not he should approach her and make another attempt at the conversation he'd barely gotten started before. Nothing about her behavior suggested that she was disappointed in him or upset about what he'd done earlier. But he still felt that niggling guilt in his gut. He still felt like something wasn't quite right between them. She almost seemed uneasy . . .

Before he could make a decision either way, a statement from Joe pierced through his musings.

"Okay, we'll let Adam be the judge then."

Knowing he was about to become the unwilling participant of their discussion, Adam swung around to face his brothers, and in doing so, his gaze caught and focused on a point in the distance over Joe's shoulder. A lone figure sitting along the riverbank some way upstream. It came back to him then, a flashing recollection of Paul declaring his intention to catch a fish after they'd finished eating.

This might just be the very opportunity he'd been waiting for . . .

Vaguely, Adam heard Joe say something else, so he shifted his attention back to his siblings. He found them both watching him expectantly and realized this must be the part where he was supposed to give his opinion on something he hadn't been listening to at all.

He shrugged and went, "I have to go along with Joe on this one."

An expression of sheer triumph fell over Joe's face while Hoss gawked disbelievingly.

"Dadburnit Adam, how kin ya say that? The gal knocked me into a horse trough! Twice!"

" _Accidentally_ ," Joe pointed out.

Adam blinked at them. Then he shrugged again. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"I couldn't agree with you more, older brother," Joe said as his teeth gleamed in a very satisfied grin.

He swung a friendly arm up around Hoss' massive shoulders and the big man shifted in discomfort, trying to shrug it off.

"Well," Adam said casually, his eyes wandering back to Madeline. "I think I'll go and see how Paul's doing."

At his announcement, she raised her head. Her whole faced seemed to light up and now there was a depth to her smile that had been missing before. He saw definite encouragement there. She probably wanted nothing more than for him and Paul to get along with each other again. He doubted she had any idea why he wanted to talk to the doctor though. The truth was that he might end up making things even worse between him and Paul by bringing this subject up. But he couldn't wait any longer. That much was obvious after the morning's events. Holding onto that thought, Adam walked around his siblings who were now involved in a more or less playful scuffle and set off towards the river. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this would turn out to be an unwelcome addition to the list of poor decisions he'd already made today.

xXXx


	42. Chapter 42

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hello guys!_

 _Thank you very much for the reviews on the last chapter. I do appreciate you taking the time to let me know what you thought. I'm glad you all seemed to enjoy seeing things from Adam's point of view and that you liked the moments of humor. A few of you mentioned that you are fond of the Pa/Adam moments, and that's a good help for me. With so many main characters it's sometimes difficult to give them all enough "screen-time", so feel free to let me know which characters you enjoy seeing together. I want to write what you enjoy to read._

 _I hope this next part isn't too drawn-out, but I admit I had fun writing it. I love these two together. :) It's time to have a talk with the Doc!_

* * *

 **Chapter 42**

The fresh scent of the river cut through the hazy flower fragrance as Adam stepped out of the meadow's high grasses. A cooling wisp of breeze hit his face and he closed his eyes, welcoming it. Then, rallying his courage, he began walking along the green bank towards where Paul was fishing. The river beside him was wide and flat, sluggishly flowing south. As he walked, he peered over at the opposite shore where a thick pine forest reigned, reflecting in the calm waters below. It seemed like another world over there; dark, uncharted and mystical in comparison to the open meadow environment on his side of the river. The view triggered a distant memory of himself and a five-year-old Little Joe, holding hands and wandering up the bank where he treaded now. Joe had been fascinated by the mystery that was "the other side of the river", so Adam had made up a story about an evil king living over there in a magical kingdom. He'd included a fair princess, a noble knight and some magic spell involving gold dust. And an enchanted piglet. Mainly because Joe had found piglets very exciting at the time.

Adam smiled faintly. In his mind's eye, he saw a cherub-faced child with untamable curls, grinning recklessly and asking for a story. He must have told Joe hundreds of tales when he was that age. He'd been more than willing to give his youngest brother those little escapes, however short-lived, from the harsh reality their family had faced back then. In the fantasy worlds he'd created for Joe, he could ensure that things ended happily even if that wasn't always the case in the real world. In reality, such endings were rare. He'd had enough bitter experience over the years to know it.

Adam faced forwards again, his smile gone as he continued up the riverside. The trees were scarce along the bank, but he saw Paul had found a dead log to sit on near a cluster of valley oaks. It was a perfect little fishing spot, quiet and secluded. With all that peacefulness around him, surely the doctor would be in a good mood. Calm and collected. Open to a talk about his niece. Adam hoped so. And if things went awry, he stood a fair chance of making a successful escape to the meadow close by. Not that he had any intention of letting the conversation escalate as it had done the last time they spoke one-on-one. But a man ought to be prepared all the same. This, he also knew from experience.

His eyes were fastened on Paul as he approached. The older man's head was angled out towards the river and he sat with his elbows resting on his thighs, holding a homemade tree-branch fishing pole.

For as long as Adam had known him, Paul had always been immaculately dressed. Wherever the man was, whatever time of day, he had the appearance of a cultured gentleman and his attire, ever neat and well-pressed, seemed perpetually suited to his polished manner. He typically wore shades of black, white and grey—though sometimes brown happened too—and he always maintained a level of formality with his shiny pointed shoes and knotted ties. Today, he wore his favored charcoal vest, a white shirt and grey pants and his matching jacket lay draped beside him over the log. There was, however, a very distinct and out of the ordinary detail about his attire. The flat crown, broad brim hat on his head. The hat had come about earlier as they were leaving the house when Madeline became worried about her uncle's head in the sharp sun. Joe had promptly produced an old, forgotten hat from the bunkhouse and a brief discussion had ensued—resulting in Paul giving in to Madeline in order to gain permission to board the buggy. Adam hadn't really taken notice of the hat before but as he got closer to it now, he couldn't help but think that the item looked . . . strange. It was sort of mud-colored and floppy-looking, like it couldn't hold itself up properly anymore. Most of all, it appeared to be too large for the doctor's head. It sat low on his brow as if it would slip down over his eyes at any moment and the wide brim simply looked disproportionate to his body size. As far as men's hat fashion went, this was definitely a style Adam was unfamiliar with.

He was a few feet away now, and fully expected Paul to hear him coming and look up. But the doctor seemed to be lost in thought and only stared out across the river. Adam slackened his pace when he noticed an odd cast to his face. From the heavy lines and the downward pull of Paul's mouth, he sensed there must be a gravely creased forehead under the big hat. It was obvious that Paul's mind was focused somewhere else. On something unpleasant, troubling. Maybe this wasn't such a good time to have a talk about Madeline after all. Adam briefly considered retreating but decided it was too late for that now. He was practically there.

He came to a halt right next to the log and waited, sticking his hands in his back pockets. Paul remained oblivious and continued staring forwards, so Adam coughed a little to announce himself. It took a short while for the cough to register. Very slowly, the doctor turned his head. The massive hat tilted precariously when he looked up and was saved at the last instant by a steadying hand on the crown. In mere seconds, all traces of gloom had been wiped from his face and his expression had settled into one of cultivated indifference as he regarded Adam.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Look who left his tree."

Adam kept his own expression pleasant. He'd deserved that one. "Mind if I sit down for a bit?" he asked.

Paul gave a blank look. The only thing that changed about his face was an imperceptible wrinkling of his nose as if he momentarily caught a whiff of something distasteful. Finally, he gestured with a lazy hand.

"If you wish. As long as you don't disturb me." He faced the river again, the movement making his hat slip lower. "As you can see, I'm very busy."

Adam shot a glance at the slack fishing line.

". . . I'll try not to."

He went to sit down but stopped short. The log was big enough to fit two people. Or, at least it would have been, had Paul not been sitting right in the middle of it. As it was, if Adam tried to sit down next to him, their bodies would be squashed uncomfortably together. Paul's demeanor indicated that scooting over was quite beyond the realms of possibility. Without a doubt, he was fully aware of the awkwardness his sitting position presented.

Doing his best to muffle a twinge of exasperation, Adam settled down in the grass instead. He got comfortable, bent one knee and stretched his other leg out. As he scanned the glittering waters, he wondered if Paul considered _talking_ as "disturbing him". Discreetly, he watched the doctor out of the corner of his right eye. Despite having known him for seventeen years, he still had trouble reading him. The man was the uncrowned king of inscrutable expressions. It didn't help matters that his eyebrows were hidden under that monstrosity on his head. Adam had never realized it before, but those two bushy strips of grey hair were the most telling feature of Paul's habitually bored countenance. Without them to go by, it was near hopeless to try to gauge the doctor's thoughts. He gave it a good shot but had to admit defeat. Having failed to discern any sort of feeling from Paul, he decided to test the waters with a casual comment.

He cleared his throat and glanced up at the sky.

"Nice day today . . ."

Long, quiet seconds ticked by.

"How observant of you."

The reply was flat and held no inflection whatsoever. Still, it was a reply. Waters tested, Adam thought a little more casual talk might soften up his friend.

"I remember we used to come out here a lot back in the day," he said, his gaze drifting down the river bank. "Sometimes you, Pa and Roy would be fishing while I played hide-and-go-seek with the boys around the meadow . . ." he trailed off to give Paul a chance to add comment.

The doctor didn't.

"Hoss and I even camped out under the stars here a few times," Adam expanded.

He got a low grunt in response.

Not quite what he was hoping for. At present he would get more conversation out of the dead log Paul was sitting on. Straining to curb another spike of annoyance, Adam turned to stare boldly at him. He eyed the bizarre hat, wondering what Paul would do if he suddenly yanked the thing off his head and tossed it into the river. That at least, was bound to get a reaction out of him. A tempting notion. But probably not the best or the most effective way of getting to the whole "I'd like to ask for your niece's hand in marriage" matter.

He dismissed the idea. He started to pick at the grass, trying to come up with something else to say instead. A genuine smile spread across his face when a fond memory surfaced, clear and vivid in his mind.

"You remember that one year when Hoss wanted to have his birthday party out here with all his friends?"

Paul snorted. "Certainly. A remarkably high number of parents of the young guests managed to wander off and get lost in the woods. Your poor father was running around like a headless chicken trying to keep track of everyone."

Adam looked at him in surprise. That was a whole lot of words. Feeling heartened, he replied, "And at the same time Pa was fretting over the rowdiest kids, worrying that one of them would end up taking a dip in the river."

"Mm-hm, and while he was busy watching said kids, it was Mrs. Buford he should've been keeping an eye on."

An image flashed before Adam's eyes, of a drenched and outraged Mrs. Buford. The grassy bank had been very slippery that day. Amusement tugging at him, he continued. "It was a sunny afternoon and you'd just come back from traveling . . ."

"Indeed. I stepped right off the stage coach, set off my luggage and hopped in the buggy," Paul said, waving a hand with a flourish. "I didn't know you'd all come out here, so I went straight to the house and a ranch hand informed me of your whereabouts."

Adam nodded. "We weren't expecting you home for another week, everyone was surprised when you showed up." His smile broadened. "Remember how excited Joe was to see you? The kid wouldn't let you go anywhere without him, he was so happy the 'duck' was back."

"Ah yes," Paul said, his voice lowering and warming. "The dear boy . . ."

His eyes went distant and the recollection brought an instant softening to his features as a smile of affection touched his lips. No doubt he was picturing Joe as a child like Adam had done himself just before.

"I half-worried he might've forgotten me, you know," Paul said after a minute. "Three months is a long time for a child that age."

"Of course he didn't forget you. We talked about you while you were away."

The doctor's eyes maintained that distant sheen as he spoke again. "I'd stuffed my pockets full of those little red sugar plums he liked so much, and I kept passing them to him behind my back when Marie wasn't looking. We had to be sneaky about it, she would have none of it before he'd eaten his supper."

"Yea . . ." Adam's smile wilted a bit. "She was always fussy about desserts before supper . . ."

Suddenly, Paul faced him and their gazes met and held. Memories poured in. But while the flood of remembrance brought some warmth, for Adam, it brought much greater pain. An old, suppressed sorrow awoke within him, ambushing him. A sharp-edged torment from the past that time had failed to dull, cut him deeply like a fresh anguish in the present. It was so intense, it took him off guard. His throat bobbed once, laboriously, and his eyes skirted away. Stifling silence ruled as he struggled mightily to get his thoughts and the conversation back on track. He didn't need this. He didn't need old pain piled on top of everything else.

"Anyway," he said after a long while, keeping his face turned towards the river. "It was just like you . . . coming home with a mountain of sweetmeat for the boys."

This time, Paul's response was immediate, his tone purposefully light. "Just as it should be. I wouldn't have been much of a _best doctor_ _in the whole world_ if I didn't return with ample amounts of sugary goods after being away, now would I?"

Adam was grateful for his tact. "I guess not," he said, going along. "Still, you had two whole boxes of chocolate drops and a huge bag of candy and that was just for Hoss."

"It was the boy's birthday," Paul justified himself.

Adam's mouth lifted a little. "And you gave me that book on engineering . . ."

He waited for a reply. None came. Puzzled, he looked over at the doctor. He seemed awfully absorbed in his fishing pole all of a sudden.

"Paul?"

"Ah . . . a book, you say?" His voice carried an undercurrent of reluctance. "What ah, what book was that?"

"It was about civil engineering," Adam said, scrutinizing his profile. "It had those incredible pictures in it of bridges, aqueducts and canals from all around the world."

"Well, erm, it was many years ago." The doctor pulled at his earlobe "I don't seem to remember . . ."

Adam furrowed his brows. "You gave it to me that same day, after Hoss had opened his presents," he prompted. "I took it to West Point with me."

Paul examined his fishing pole with scientific intensity. "Yes, well, I suppose I might have stumbled across such a book on my travels . . . I probably got it off some book canvasser and thought you might have an interest in it."

For a long moment Adam simply looked at him, his chest feeling strangely full.

"It was a newly published leather-bound edition. You brought it all the way back from New York for me . . ."

The sound of his own voice surprised him. It had gone curiously soft.

Paul sat very still. "Well . . . like I said, it was a long time ago. I really have no recollection of it . . ."

Adam's eyes were fixed on him. He couldn't look away. It was suddenly as if he saw him in a different light—a light from the past. He didn't see the cranky, agitating doctor who'd been driving him crazy the last week. He saw the man who'd been a steady presence in his life since he was fourteen years old. A man who'd always been there for him, his father and brothers, ready to lend support whenever it was needed. Someone who had listened to a boy's dreams of a college education and who had cared. Adam's chest tightened as all that came back. He shifted where he sat to relieve the sudden onslaught of emotion. This was another thing he didn't need. That kind of deep reflection would only make his life more complicated. Everything between him and Paul was complicated enough. Through sheer willpower, he quashed the rioting feelings within him in one fell swoop. Then he relaxed his posture and adopted a casual tone.

"Don't worry Paul, I understand. Your memory isn't what it used to be." He reached over to give the older man's back a supportive clap. "But don't feel bad. It happens."

The top half of the doctor's face disappeared completely as the clap made his hat drop all the way to his nose. He slowly lifted a hand and pushed the wide brim back up, revealing one grey eye turned towards Adam.

"Oh, ho ho, what a little joker you are, lad," he said flatly. "Does your wit know no bounds?"

"Probably not . . ." Feigning deep thought, Adam lifted a finger to his lips. "And I think it would be wrong to put boundaries on it. Such talent should be allowed to grow . . ."

Paul regarded him silently. Then shook his head. "You're impossible."

"Nope, can't be impossible." Adam motioned to himself. "Right here, I sit."

"Indeed, you do."

With another shake of his head, Paul returned his attention to his fishing line, but not before Adam caught the little twitch to his lips. That twitching suspicion of a smile he'd known since he was a boy. He was amazed at the warmth that spread inside him. This felt good. It was like they'd taken a small step back onto familiar ground with the resurrection of their easy banter. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed spending time with Paul. But he had. He'd missed their friendship. Maybe there was hope yet for a peaceful father-son-in-law relationship.

He followed the direction of the doctor's gaze to the fishing line.

"What bait are you using?" he asked.

Removing one hand from the branch-pole, Paul reached down by his feet where a little fishing tackle box stood. He opened it and lifted out a can that had at one point contained beans.

"Joe found me these juicy worms," he said, setting the can down next to Adam. "However, the fish residing here don't seem very keen. Not so much as a nibble yet." Massaging his little rounded chin, he cast a skeptical eye towards the water. "Perhaps some bugs of some sort would be more to their taste . . ."

Adam's eyes darted to the river, then back to Paul. An imp of mischief took hold. He shifted to get to his feet, timing his next comment so he would be up and standing when the words fell on his friend.

"You want me to help you catch one?"

"HA!" The doctor threw his head back and almost dislodged his hat. Hat, umbrella without a handle, whatever the case. " _Help me_? What in the—that's preposterous!" He struggled to secure the head-wear again. "I've been catching fish longer than you've been alive!"

"Sure, you have," Adam said tranquilly as he strolled around Paul's back, heading for an oak tree a few feet away.

"I'll have you know that I was—" Paul broke off when he whirled left and found an empty grass bank where Adam was supposed to be sitting. Adam fought a smile as the older man swung his head around in confusion, the hat flopping about. Paul finally looked right and spotted him. "That I was quite the fisherman in my day," he continued in a dignified tone. " _Help me_ catch a fish. I've never heard anything so absurd in all my life."

Adam squinted up at the tree, searching for a good branch. "Sorry Paul. I didn't know you'd get so offended over—"

"Now, hold on there, lad." Paul held up a finger to rebut the statement. "Who said anything about being offended? I'm not offended, not at all. I was merely enlightening you. Clearly, you were dreadfully misguided on the matter."

"I appreciate it."

Spying a decent branch, Adam stretched up and broke it off. As he walked back to Paul, he found a y-shaped stick lying on the ground and bent to grab it. He sat down in the grass again and after breaking off the smaller growths from the main branch, he reached across Paul's shiny shoes to grab the tackle box. It was one of his father's, a present from Hoss one Christmas long ago. He got out a hook and line and began crafting a fishing pole. It had been many years since he'd constructed his own like this and as he worked, a new bout of memories with his brothers returned. He plucked a worm out of the can to bait the line, all the while feeling Paul's eyes tracking his every move.

He sensed the doctor shift. "Ahem . . . may I ask how many of my worms you intend to use?

Without looking up, Adam replied, "Of course, you may. I figure I can get two fat ones on there. The fish I want to catch won't bother with one measly worm."

He picked out a couple of lead sinkers from the tackle box and added them to the line. A quick upward glimpse revealed that Paul was leaning forwards and watching with interest.

"I'm adding extra lead to make sure the bait sinks and stays down," he explained. "The trick is to let it roll along the bottom with the current. All the big ones are down there."

"Hmpf." The doctor sat back. "Of course they are."

Adam pointed to his fishing line. "You might wanna pull your line in and check your bait."

Paul's eyelids did a very slow blink. "And why, pray tell, might I _wanna_ do that?"

Pursing his lips, Adam surveyed the still water. "Have you felt any pull on that line at all?"

"I just told you, not so much as a nibble. The fish don't care for these worms."

"Trust me, check the bait. If you didn't hook it on right, a sneaky fish can snatch it clean off without you feeling a thing."

Paul made a face. "If I didn't hook it on right! What kind of fool do you take me for?"

About a hundred sarcastic responses to that sprang up in Adam's mind. The fact that none of them made it out was a sheer miracle. He merely smiled.

"Would you like me to do it for you?"

"Absolutely not." Paul dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand. "I'm very capable of checking my own fishing line, thank you very much."

Muttering under his breath, he settled the pole between his knees and began hauling in the line with a clumsy hand-overhand motion. A few seconds later, the hook emerged from the water, wormless. He held it up and they both stared at the curved metal swaying back and forth in the air.

Paul harrumphed. "Ah, it must've fallen off as I pulled the line in."

"Yeah . . . that's probably what happened."

"Mm. Without question."

The doctor went about baiting the hook again and Adam withheld further comment. He threw his own line out, stuck the y-shaped stick in the ground and settled his fishing pole. Crossing his legs, he leaned back on his palms in the soft grass. Again, he felt Paul's scrutiny like a physical pressure on the side of his face. With a one-cornered smile hitching his mouth, he slanted a deliberately sly wink at the doctor. Paul's lips crimped as if he'd chewed down on something sour. He huffed and threw his freshly baited line out—this time with lead sinkers—grumbling something about a young whippersnapper trying to out-fish him. Adjusting his hat, he then got into position. He sat rigid as a statue with his body arched tensely forwards, holding his fishing pole tightly with both hands. His gaze was riveted to the water.

"Come on fish . . ." he urged quietly.

Adam smiled wider. "Talking to them probably won't—"

"I have _my_ way of fishing, you have _yours_."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Adam nodded agreeably. He focused on the water again and they lapsed into companionable silence for several minutes. At regular intervals Paul tugged carefully on his line to tempt a fish.

Adam contemplated his next move. He'd laid the groundwork—they'd had over fifteen minutes of civil conversation and a bit of banter. He'd even gotten a couple of smiles out of Paul. The older man seemed to actually like him a bit right now. All that was left to do, was ask for permission to marry his niece. Simple enough. But how did he ease into it? He couldn't just . . . blurt it out. He had to bring Madeline up in some way first. So absorbed in his dilemma, Adam slowly became aware of the painful thumping in his left arm. It got to the point where it demanded his attention and he had to rethink his leaned-back position. Sitting forwards again, he clutched his left elbow to ease the ache. He couldn't quite stifle a wince.

"How is it?" Paul asked from beside him.

" _It's fine"_ rose up his throat, but Adam choked it back down at the last second. Paul was showing genuine concern, he deserved a half-honest answer at least.

"It's all right," he said. "I probably moved it around a little too much the last five minutes though. A bit sore now."

The following pause signaled Paul's surprise at the reply, but he recovered swiftly. "I wanted to look at it when we get home. Madeline was worried."

This was it. The opening he needed. Without moving his head, Adam slid a sideways glance at Paul.

"Madeline always worries," he said breezily.

Something between a snort and a grumble left the doctor's mouth as he tugged lightly on his fishing pole.

"She certainly does about you."

Adam hesitated. "And I worry about her too . . . because I care about her. _A lot_."

"I've gathered that."

This was it, his mind repeated. If there was ever an opportunity to have this talk, now was the time. Damn it, why were his hands getting all clammy suddenly? It was just Paul for God's sake. Adam wiped his palms on his pants. There was only one way to do this. He licked his lips, took a big breath and plunged in.

"Listen Paul . . . I wanted to talk to you about—"

"GOOD LORD!" Paul suddenly leaped up to a stand. "I have a bite!"

Adam's jaw dropped. He gaped at the doctor in complete astonishment. Hardly able to believe that he'd been interrupted for the second time today while trying to have a meaningful conversation. He was literally shaken out of his bewilderment when Paul grabbed him by the shoulder, rattled him, and let go to point frantically at his taut line.

"Adam! Look!"

"Yea Paul, I—"

"Look, lad!"

Adam hung his head. Then he shifted and climbed to his feet.

"I'm looking."

Paul gazed wide-eyed at the river. Clasping his hands behind his back, Adam looked as he was told. The fishing pole was bent in a sharp arch, looking like it might snap as Paul attempted to haul it back. The line wasn't budging. Whatever it was the hook had caught on, it wasn't a fish, Adam knew that much. He was just waiting for the doctor to realize it too. The only disturbances in the water were the little rings that formed every time Paul tugged. The struggle went on for several seconds.

"Gnnrrr." Paul pulled harder on the pole. "The devil . . ."

"Here, let me try," Adam said, holding a hand out. "You've probably got the hook caught on something."

"Something like a huge fish," the doctor grunted.

He moved his hands down so Adam could take hold but refused to relinquish the pole completely.

Adam tugged repeatedly, each time with increasing force.

He frowned. "How the hell did you manage . . ."

Finally, he gave it a hard, very frustrated yank—the pole came flying back and, to his great surprise and misfortune—so did Paul. With a choked yelp, the doctor tumbled backwards, arms flailing, hat flying, his heels slamming back against the log behind him. Adam whipped a hand out to grab him but got a fistful of air instead as Paul tumbled over the log and crashed to the ground, backside-first, his legs shooting up.

"Oooompff!"

He lay stunned in the grass, blinking up at the sky with his arms and legs spread out in all directions. There was a terrible silence. And then, a burst of laughter exploded up in the air. It cut off immediately when Adam realized it was coming from himself. He stood dumbstruck, startled at the unfamiliar sound that had just erupted from his lungs. How long had it been since he'd laughed like that? He couldn't even remember. Now wasn't the time to try either. He had to do something about the daggers Paul's icy eyes were currently hurling at him. Throwing down the pole, he rushed over to the fallen doctor. He knelt beside him and tried to get him sitting up.

"You all right Paul?"

The older man slapped his hands away. "Release me, you savage."

He complied. The look on Paul's face was enough to make him back up.

"Uncle Paul!"

"Doc!"

"Paul!"

The distant chorus of shocked voices had Adam dropping his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for them to arrive.

Joe was first to show up with the unhelpful exclamation, "What the heck happened!" Followed by the no better, "Can't we leave the two of you alone together for five minutes?"

Standing, Adam pinched the bridge of his nose harder.

A second later, Hoss appeared behind Paul and swiftly bent down and stuck his hands under his arms. "Now Doc, what're ya doin' down there fur?"

In his vigor to assist, he hoisted the older man up with such force that Paul almost flew forwards.

"Oooompf!"

"There ya go," Hoss said, steadying him before he plunged into the river headfirst as well.

"You're all right, Doc," Joe said, patting his shoulder.

"Ugh. Thank you . . ."

Next, Madeline hurried to his other side, her eyes huge and worried, her forehead rippled. "Are you hurt Uncle Paul?" she asked, placing his stray hat back on his head.

"Ugh." Paul repeated, still shaken. "I don't know, I-I . . ." He looked down himself, patting his belly as if to check if he was intact when suddenly—

"THUNDERATION! Look what you did!"

Adam stared at Paul's finger jabbing insistently at a ragged tear on the left side of his vest.

He winced. "I'm sorry Paul, I didn't—"

"My favorite vest!"

"I—" Adam began and, wisely, stopped. Paul's face had turned crimson. His eyes had gone from icy to bonfire-blazing. His cheeks were blown out looking like they might explode, and Adam could practically see fumes coming out of his ears. It was safe to say that the doctor was peeved.

"Oh dear," Madeline said delicately, seemingly addressing the unfortunate situation in general. She brought a hand against her breastbone and dipped her head to examine the ripped clothing. "Oh, but look Uncle Paul, it's only a small tear and it runs along the seam. It will be no trouble for me to fix this."

Ignoring her little observation, Paul finally erupted and stabbed a finger at Adam's midsection. "YOU are the most reckless, most EXASPERATING, the most—"

"Doc . . . Doc, calm down," Joe interjected with a nervous grimace, but Paul ranted right over him. Adam appreciated the kid's concern for his life, but he somehow knew that the doctor needed to get this out of his system.

". . . . of all the irritating, STUBBORN . . ."

Paul's booming voice carried out across the river. Beads of sweat formed on Hoss' brow. He and Joe traded anxious glances. As the tirade continued, Adam stopped paying attention to Paul's lengthy listing of unflattering adjectives, which he guessed must have been building up over the last week. He retreated to that empty, cold place inside him where nothing could touch him—no harsh words, no angry glares—nothing could get through or even dent his armor. Smoothing any expression from his features, he stood with folded arms, his eyes holding Paul's steadily. That reaction only seemed to inflame the doctor's temper and his voice flew up a pitch. When Paul took a step towards him, Adam stepped backwards. For all he knew, the man might try to throw him into the river. He would fail, of course, abysmally, but he might end up stumbling over his own clumsy feet and falling in the water himself and Adam didn't want to be blamed for that too.

". . . most BULLHEADED man to have ever been created!" Paul finished on a thundering note that must have echoed all around the Ponderosa.

He was out of breath at that point and looked exhausted. It was so quiet suddenly that everyone could hear Hoss gulp. Madeline had a hand covering her mouth and Joe stood frozen with his teeth gritted together in a wincing grimace.

"Well?" Paul demanded. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?!"

Keeping his face flawlessly blank, Adam was about to speak when his father arrived at the scene—and not a moment too soon.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Ben exclaimed, holding up a pair of quelling hands as he stepped in between them, facing the doctor.

"Ask your son!" Paul barked and looked down to mourn his torn vest again.

Adam waited as his pa swiveled around to him with a confounded expression that invited an explanation. He shrugged one shoulder. "We had a little mishap."

Paul's head jerked up, his eyes flying wide. "A LITTLE MIS—"

"Uncle Paul, Uncle Paul," Madeline intervened, placing her hands around his arm. "Please calm yourself. Adam clearly feels very terrible about all of this." Her worried gaze flashed in Adam's direction before she continued in her gentle, reasoning voice, "Like I said, I can fix your vest and I promise you it will be as good as new. There's really no cause for you to get so upset over such a thing. Now, most importantly, did you injure yourself?"

Only Madeline could have managed it, and Adam wasn't surprised that she did. Some of the steam left Paul as he finally peeled his glare off him and glanced at her concerned face for the first time. He grunted and rubbed his lower back. "No . . . no, I don't think so." He cast a doubtful look at the mangled fabric around his stomach. "I don't know about this vest though . . ."

"But I do," she said firmly. "I will mend it, so don't worry yourself."

Shifting his considerable bulk, Hoss dared a remark. "I reckon Miss Madeline knows what she's talkin' about Doc. She fixed a big ol' rip in a shirt of mine just the other day. She kin mend just about anythin'."

Madeline sent him a grateful smiled and Hoss basked in the glow.

"Well," Ben said with a measure of unease, laying a cautious hand on Paul's shoulder. "There's no real harm done then, is there Paul?"

Even though the storm seemed to have passed, Adam noted how his pa kept himself positioned between Paul and him, as though he worried the doctor might fly off again. It came as no surprise, his overprotective father's urge to shield him from the doctor's wrath. And without even knowing the facts of what had happened, which still hadn't been clarified to anyone.

"I suppose not," Paul grumbled. Mellowed some now, his previous expression of fury had been toned down to one of mere irritation as he once again faced Adam.

"Did you at the very least secure my catch?"

Joe who'd been unusually quiet, joined the conversation and spoke from behind Adam.

"Uh yeah, about that, Doc . . ."

Everyone watched as he held up the fishing pole and the scrap of fishing line that remained.

With deliberate slowness, Paul turned back to Adam and gave him a look that would have seen a lesser man felled on the spot. Adam didn't even flinch. The doctor opened his mouth to speak again but Madeline diverted him.

"There, there now, Uncle, everything will be fine. Why don't we go back and have a nice cooling glass of lemonade in the shade?"

Paul started to protest, but she quickly linked her arm through his and swung him around in the direction of the meadow. He had to hold onto his hat. She walked him off while keeping up a stream of soothing babble, projecting calm and peace onto her frustrated uncle. Watching them go, Adam had a feeling it would take more than lemonade to douse the older man's temper. He didn't say so though. Hoss shot him a sympathetic glance before hurrying after them, and on his way, collected the three flower bouquets which had been discarded in the grass during all the commotion.

Adam waited until they were well into the meadow. Then he bowed his head and expelled a huge, long breath. Sensing his father's approach, he instantly straightened his back and steeled himself for whatever was coming next. Unexpectedly, he felt a strong hand settle on his shoulder.

"We'll talk about it later, son. Paul has probably had enough outdoor activities for one day, so we'll start packing up and head home."

Keeping his eyes lowered, Adam only nodded. He didn't have the energy for anything else.

"It'll be fine. You know how he can be," his father said and with those reassuring words, he released his shoulder with a squeeze.

There was something resembling weariness in his gait as he went over to fetch Paul's grey jacket and the fishing tackle box by the log. With a great sigh, he headed after the others.

Adam decided to hang back, deeming that distance, at this time, would be best for all parties involved. He finally let his shoulders drop, along with his guard. Closing his eyes tightly, he smeared a palm over his face. That literally could not have gone worse. Everything that had just happened, surpassed any possible bad outcome he might have been able to dream up. Talk about letting a conversation escalate . . . What had he done? How the hell had things gone so horribly wrong? He knew Paul had a temper, but he hadn't witnessed such a long and scorching demonstration of it in a long time. All directed at him. And it had to happen now, just when they'd found their footing with one another again. He cursed his bad luck. It would likely take days for the doctor to get past this disaster. If asking for permission to marry Madeline had been unnerving before, it was downright frightening now.

Pacing a few steps along the river bank, Adam felt his bad mood returning with a vengeance.

He hadn't managed to talk things out with Madeline about the kiss. He hadn't gotten to ask Paul the question that burned constantly in his heart and mind. The chances had been there, and he'd blown them both.

This really wasn't his day.

He wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose again but restrained himself. A third time in such short order was just too ridiculous. Standing completely still at the edge of the bank, he stared down into the clear water, relying on deep, deliberate breaths to calm him down instead. Quiet fell around him. The breeze washed over him, cleansing. He stood like that for at least a minute, probably more. Until his thoughts had ordered themselves, somewhat.

 _Let it go_. That was what he needed to do right now. He couldn't change what had happened with Paul. There was no point in dwelling on it. Any attempt to talk to the doctor about Madeline would be futile for the time being. He would just have to bide his time and try again when things had cooled down between them. As for the talk with Madeline—he might still be able to settle that matter. If he could find the right moment to speak with her, privately, so he could explain himself. And apologize properly for his behavior earlier . . .

It came out of nowhere. "It" was a familiar prickle on the back of his neck. The prickle he got when something wasn't right in his surroundings—the prickle that had saved him and his men from more than a few Rebel ambushes during the war. All thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as his warning instincts screamed alive.

Adam looked up. His narrowed eyes immediately moved over the river to the opposite shore. Years of training came rushing back, sharpening his focus. Slowly, he slid his gaze along the shore, trying to locate the source of his unease. Trying to identify this sudden, unknown threat. Reflexively, his right hand went to his hip, grasping for the comforting feel of the grip of his gun, but there was nothing. He remembered removing his gun-belt earlier while they were having the picnic. All his senses were on full alert now, every muscle in his body strung tight. His heart-rate climbed as his eyes searched the thick forest in the distance. He saw nothing. Only dark woods. But that prickly sensation wouldn't let up. His concentration was broken when his ears, attuned for the tiniest sound, picked up footsteps coming behind him.

"What is it Adam?"

He felt Joe's presence beside him and looked sideways at him.

Joe's brows were scrunched in a deep frown, his eyes sharp and attentive, fixed on the opposite shore.

"I'm not sure," Adam said and gazed across the river again. "I just had a strange feeling . . ."

For a few beats, they stood silently, staring ahead, neither moving.

"You wanna ride out and take a look?" Joe asked quietly.

The soldier in him did. But he wouldn't. Whatever was out there, he wasn't about to leave Madeline's side to go and find out. He would be sticking close to the buggy the whole ride home until he had her safely back at the house. However unpleasant it may be for him and Paul.

"No, not now," he mumbled. "Let's just get on home."

He turned away, though it took effort to pull his eyes free from the distant shore. Joe seemed to be having the same problem, so Adam placed a hand on his shoulder and rotated him around. He let his palm rest there as they headed back towards the meadow.

"Do you have any idea what it was?"

Prepared for the question, Adam replied smoothly, "Just a feeling I had. It was probably nothing."

Abruptly, Joe dug his heels in the grass and twisted so they stood front to front. "When you get a look on your face like the one I just saw, it means there's _something_ ," he said, his voice clipped, "I'm not a little kid anymore Adam, so stop treating me like one."

Taken aback, Adam dropped his hand from Joe's shoulder. He regarded his little brother with sudden intensity. Joe met his gaze, levelly, strongly, and his green eyes reflected the truth of his own statement. Adam realized Joe was right. That cherub-faced child he'd spent so much of his life protecting was long gone now. Before him stood a young man. A proud young man.

He sighed and rubbed his neck. "I'm sorry Joe . . ." He flicked a glance back at the river. "I don't know what it was out there . . . I didn't see anything exactly. But I think we should be on our guard until we get home."

Joe's expression softened and he jerked a nod. "Right."

As they began walking again, Adam's attention honed in on Madeline in the distance.

"This stays between us, Joe. Don't say anything to the others."

xXXx

By the time they got back to the picnic spot, all their supplies were loaded onto the buggy again. The atmosphere was subdued, only Madeline and Hoss were talking, attempting to lighten things up. Paul was quiet and sulky, and Adam paid no mind to him. He needed to keep a clear head and couldn't allow for distractions.

As they left Hoss Heaven, he and Joe took up position on either side of the buggy. Adam rode Sport close to Madeline's side. She was obviously surprised by that, but he knew she had no idea about the reason for his nearness. The same could not be said for his pa. Ever the perceptive father, Ben was quick to catch onto the change in his sons' demeanors. After five minutes on the trail, he also started paying special attention to their surroundings.

The further away from Hoss Heaven they got, the less threatened Adam felt. He had no sense they were being followed and gradually that prickly feeling faded.

The trip went without incident. They arrived back at the house half an hour later and Adam had noticed nothing out of the ordinary. He shared a look with Joe as they rode into the yard but he just shrugged and hadn't noticed anything either. Adam was relieved to have Madeline home safely, but the events puzzled him. He'd seen nothing. He'd heard nothing. But the feeling that someone had been watching him by the river lingered. He didn't know who or why. But he knew better than to ignore his instincts.

xXXx


	43. Chapter 43

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Hello everybody, Bonanza Becky here! :)_

 _I'm afraid I needed to take some time away from writing._ _I'm very happy to be back now though, and I only hope you're still out there and ready for more of this story._ _I do want to give a late thanks to all of you for leaving wonderful reviews on the last chapter, Guests and Members._ _Reading your reviews brings a smile to my face when I need it, and I've needed it this last month, so thank you very much for that._ _The fishing disaster with Paul was such fun to write, but obviously very hard on Adam. I know there are many unanswered questions and they will be answered soon._

 _I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get this next chapter out. It's closely connected to the previous two (42 and 41, the picnic) and therefore has many references to them. So,_ _I really hope this continuation isn't too confusing and that you are able to "get back into it"._

 _So, about this chapter. It's Adam's POV most of it and I've pushed some boundaries a bit. I won't spoil anything, but Madeline is involved (of course) I get the impression from many reviewers that you really enjoy the "hot" scenes between these two. And after the interruption of their kiss a few chapters ago_ — _which he didn't get to talk to her about on the picnic_ — _and with his growing struggle to hold himself back, I thought this was the perfect time to, ah, ramp up the "hotness", as it were. Anyway, I've tried to keep it exciting and tense but still funny. It'll be interesting to see how this goes down._

 _Well, I hope you're all happy and well, and I wish you a wonderful weekend! :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 43**

Adam lay on his bed with one arm bent under his head, staring up at the ceiling. Cool, night air entered his room through the open window on his left. The quilted drapes swayed lightly back and forth. The full moon shone in—long, pale shafts streaking across the floorboards, casting silvery ribbons of light onto the sheets and his bare chest. He knew that if he turned his head and looked out the window, he would find a midnight sky of perfect velvet, cloudless and deep, speckled with millions of twinkling stars. All was quiet now. Aside from the occasional hoot of a lonely owl, the silence was complete and engulfing as the darkness wrapping around the world outside.

He'd been lying in the same position for almost an hour, waiting for sleep to take him. Exhaustion lay as a heavy blanket over every part of his body and his head ached. But he was wide awake. The day's events kept drifting through his mind in a strange, unyielding loop. First, the difficult talk with Madeline about the army, followed by that sensual kiss. Then, the embarrassing confrontation with his father about his brooding, and the disastrous fishing venture with Paul. And finally, that eerie feeling of being watched by the river . . .

Sighing, he pushed the sheets down to his waist. What a day. A day best forgotten, that was for sure. He laid his bad arm across his stomach, watching absently as moonlight rippled across his tanned skin, illuminating the bandage in an ivory glow. Ironically, after everything that had happened today, it was what _hadn't_ that disturbed him most and kept him awake now.

He hadn't managed to talk to Madeline about the kiss.

He'd hoped to find a moment alone with her when they got home from the picnic, but she'd spent the rest of the afternoon helping Hop Sing in the kitchen. After supper, she'd settled down on the settee to mend Paul's torn vest and a couple of Joe's shirts. With the whole family and Paul around all the time, there had been no chance of having that conversation with her. When she'd bid everyone goodnight, he'd come very close to following her to her room—that's how desperate he'd been to speak with her in private. Only, he knew how that would have looked to everyone else. One Paul Martin-rant a day was quite enough. No need to risk angering the man any further. With that in mind, Adam had made himself stay where he was and watched Madeline disappear up the staircase to her room.

Now he almost wished he'd thrown caution to the wind and gone after her anyway. Anything would've been better than this. Lying awake and worrying. Sleepless nights were nothing new to him, but it was usually a combination of nightmares and confused feelings about the army keeping him up. Tonight, it was all Madeline.

The bed creaked loudly in the silence of night as he shifted and kicked his feet restlessly under the covers. Sighing again, Adam laced his fingers across his chest. He just couldn't stop thinking about her. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

She'd been quiet all evening. At first, he'd assumed that the reason was Paul's bad mood, but it later became clear that her attention wasn't on the doctor at all. While she'd been doing her needlework, Adam had sat down to read next to her, and he'd felt her watching him. Several times. Every time he'd looked up at her, she'd quickly averted her eyes and her cheeks had colored sweetly. He hadn't known what to make of it—he still didn't. Right, so the intensity of his feelings for her sometimes made him forget that they hadn't actually known each other for all that long. She did still have those bouts of shyness around him and honestly, he found them pretty damn adorable. But this evening, she'd seemed _more_ than shy, nervous even. She hadn't acted like that with him since they first met. _And why?_ He frowned as the question continued to burn in his brain. It was starting to drive him crazy.

Whatever had been on her mind tonight, he had a hunch it had something to do with the kiss. It would explain her quietness, her blushing and the slightly uneasy way she'd behaved around him all day. Things had definitely been different between them since they'd shared that moment of intimacy in his bedroom. But just what did she think about it? How did she _feel_ about it? Despite his reckless actions, she really hadn't seemed upset with him while they were on the picnic. She'd been a little shy perhaps, but not upset. What if she felt differently now? Maybe now that she'd had the whole day to think about it—to really let it sink in—she'd realized just how irresponsibly he'd behaved . . .

Adam uttered a quiet oath. The more he considered it, the more convinced he became that he was right in his train of thought. What other explanation was there? None that he could think of. He'd obviously made her uncomfortable. That _had_ to be why she'd acted so strange with him tonight. His tired head was beginning to pound under the pressure of his heavy contemplation as yet more questions and worries swirled around him. He tried to sort through them, grasped for clarity, but he knew there was no stopping his mind when it got like this. Everything was beginning to spin out of control.

Cursing himself, he rolled onto his side, giving his pillow two solid punches before laying down again. His stare connected with the closed door across from him. _Damn_. He should never have kissed her like that! In his _bedroom,_ on his _bed_! He'd been too forward with her. Completely out of line. Another realization struck, making him stiffen. _What if he'd scared her off?_ Sure, he'd said he was sorry just after it happened, but that had been and outright lie. At the time, he was only sorry they'd been interrupted.

"How could you be so stupid . . ." he mumbled, glaring at the door as if expecting an answer from the polished pinewood. Squeezing his eyes shut, Adam flopped onto his back again.

What in the hell was wrong with him? He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't let something like this happen with Madeline again. He'd vowed never to let his desires cloud his judgement, never to put his own needs above hers. This wasn't the first time his ardor had gotten him into trouble with her. He remembered it all to clearly. That day at Silver Creek when he'd given into passion and kissed and touched her, and she'd broken down in tears before eventually telling him about her marriage to Ray Bradshaw. One would think he would have learned something from that. Apparently not.

In a frustrated movement, he yanked the pillow out from behind his head and pitched it across the room, hoping to release some of the vexation bubbling inside him. Unfortunately, the cushion collided harmlessly with the opposite wall before sliding to the floor with a muffled thump. The following silence seemed to mock him. _Great_. Adam snorted and let his head fall back against the headboard. The hard wood connected with the back of his head in a louder, more satisfying _thud_. He rubbed a hand across his face. "Fool," he muttered. "Stupid fool . . ."

His mind was churning like a whirlpool, pulling him deeper and deeper down into the depths of self-condemnation. Heck, he deserved to drown in it.

He rolled his head sideways, his sight falling to the side of the bed. White moonlight pooled right on the spot where Madeline had been sitting when he'd kissed her. He chewed his lip as the memory returned. In _vivid_ detail. That voice of reason inside his mind scolded him anew, telling him that it was a good thing they'd been interrupted. His body, however, seemed to have other ideas. He grew warmer by the second. It was a slow heat, beginning somewhere in the pit of his stomach and slowly spreading through every bit of him. His heart beat a little faster. All he could think about then, was the sweet flavor of her mouth. The touch of her luscious lips. Her irresistible scent—lavender and feminine. Her perfect little body, slender yet curvy in all the right places—all the places he liked them to be. That startled, innocent look on her face . . .

 _Innocent._ Adam blinked as he stuck on that word. Sweet, _innocent_ Madeline . . .

 _Stop it._ He forced his eyes away and looked up at the ceiling again in an effort to redirect his thoughts because this was a mental trail he shouldn't go down. _Oh, hell_. Too late. His brain was already going down it. This was what he'd tried to avoid all day. As much as he disliked spending hours lamenting over his own bad behavior, it was a darn sight easier to immerse himself in self-reproach than it was to face up to this—these thoughts about Madeline and that beguiling innocence of hers. Because if he were honest with himself, this was what bothered him most of all.

The truth was, that her immediate reaction to the kiss had excited him. Like nothing else ever had. And another truth while he was at it—if he didn't already know that Madeline had been married, he would have guessed she was as inexperienced as a virgin. Yep, there it was. It wasn't the first time he'd pondered that notion either. She just had that air of purity and chasteness about her that would make any man think the same. He, on the other hand, was not inexperienced. He knew how to please women. He also knew how a woman responded when she was enjoying a kiss. The way Madeline had responded to him today. So, the real issue here wasn't whether she'd enjoyed his attentions or not. He was already well aware that some part of her had. That faraway look of desire in her eyes had been evidence enough—hence his excitement. She'd felt what he had, to some degree anyway, she just didn't know it herself. Hence the confusion and the shock he'd also seen in her expression . . . and that brought him right back to those implications he'd so conveniently ignored in the heat of the moment. Implications which were now blatantly obvious to him. From the nervous, yet curious ways she reacted whenever he got intimate with her, it wasn't so hard to put things together. Ray Bradshaw had not only been a brutal husband, but a selfish one.

Adam's jaw tightened and his hand flexed involuntarily, clenching into a fist. It really wasn't something he cared to think about. The thought of Madeline with another man made his blood boil. It sparked an all-consuming, flaming anger he'd never experienced before. The idea of her body being possessed by another man's stirred something deep within him that he hadn't known existed. A hidden side of himself that was _primal_ and _male_.

She hadn't told him much about her marriage, especially not _that_ aspect of it. And why in the world would she? It was obviously a painful and embarrassing subject for her. Nevertheless, he'd spent many late hours thinking about it himself. He already knew that what he'd seen her late husband do to her on that fateful day in Virginia City—that was just a hint of the cruel treatment she'd been subjected to for years. Bradshaw had been a brute, plain and simple, and more than likely, he'd also been one of those husbands who didn't show their wives any sort of consideration in the marital bed . . .

Closing his eyes, Adam sucked in a long, bracing breath. He unclenched his fingers, flattened his hand on his stomach, and banished Ray Bradshaw from his thoughts. The man was dead. It was over, and no one would ever hurt Madeline like that again. He would make sure of it.

For a long while, he lay completely still. Here, alone in the silence and the moonlight, nearing the end of that doomed mental trail, he finally allowed his mind to go where it most wanted. Where it _shouldn't_ go. But it did, it went straight back to Madeline and their passionate interlude because everything came down to that and how it had confirmed the secret suspicions he'd had for a while. Her startled reaction had said it all. While she might not be a virgin, she was still an innocent in the ways of love and passion. And what was more—because he might as well let his salacious thoughts go all the damned way now—she was probably just as innocently unaware of the pleasures and delights that lovemaking had to offer. The pleasures that _he_ could offer her . . .

Now, if that knowledge wasn't enough to fry a guy's brain, he didn't know what was.

Adam exhaled very slowly. Feeling unbearably warm now, he kicked the sheets to the bottom of the bed. With his eyes closed, he easily summoned her visage before him, every last one of her lovely features. He couldn't help himself—again he pictured her sitting on the side of his bed, only this time, they were completely alone. Uninterrupted. Desire for her thrummed through his body, warming him to a fevered pitch. The bedroom was cool, but still he was sweltering in nothing but his white drawers. She was so clear to him as he relived the thrilling moment again, how good it had felt, pressing his mouth against hers. Touching her. How she'd responded so tentatively, so delightfully to his seduction. How he'd had her trembling with reaction from _just kissing_ when there was much more he could show her.

So much more . . .

His eyes flew open. Groaning, he abruptly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You're never gonna get any sleep now . . ." he muttered darkly.

Trying to ignore that tight ache in his nether regions, Adam stood, grabbing a glass of water from the night table. It was a far cry from what he wanted to drink right now, but he gulped it down anyway. Swallowing, he slammed the glass back down so hard it damn near broke. He raked his fingers through his hair and began pacing around the dark room in an attempt to calm his suddenly raging libido. A lost battle if ever there was one.

He swore vehemently. It was as if she'd possessed him! His mind, his heart, his body. She had it all. She had _him_. She alone had the ability to soothe his tortured heart one minute and drive him mad with need for her the next. He was so desperately in love with her and evidently, behaving more and more recklessly as a result—like he had this morning. Whether she'd enjoyed his seduction or not was irrelevant, he still shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have pushed her like that. In his defense though, their current living situation sure didn't make it easy to curb his attraction to her. It was one thing courting Madeline in Virginia City and seeing her every other day—but living under the same roof as her for more than a week and knowing _every single night_ that she slept in a room just down the hall from him—that . . . yeah, that was a whole different level of frustrating. Really, it would be enough to push any sane man over the edge. Even a gentleman. _Right?_

Unconvinced by his miserable attempt at self-justification, Adam continued his wild pacing. Dots of perspiration broke out on his forehead. He wiped them away with the back of his hand. _Calm down. You need to calm down,_ he told himself. Easier said than done. Even though he was obviously the more _experienced_ party here, nothing in his past had prepared him to deal with how Madeline made him feel. No woman had ever had such power over him. Considering he hadn't actually been with a woman in over four years, it probably shouldn't come as a big surprise. Then again, he knew that what he was feeling wasn't just a simple case of lust. If it were, well, then there were means of dealing with that. There were plenty of establishments in Virginia City where men could go to have their needs taken care of. A two-hour horse ride away. But the thing was, since he'd met Madeline, that thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He only wanted _her._ Hell, want wasn't even the right word. He _craved_ her. Every inch of him craved her love, her comfort, her compassion, her touch—

 _Get a hold of yourself, damn it!_

He stopped with a jerk, mid-pace. Chest heaving, hands on his hips, Adam stared at his moonlit reflection in the long dressing mirror. Startled by what he saw.

Dear God . . . what was happening to him?This was ridiculous!He was a grown man, a mature man, for heaven's sake! Not some randy sixteen-year-old. He was stronger than this. He could control this. He _had_ to. And he could—there was one sure way of proving it. By facing up to what had been a mistake— _a mistake_ his mind insisted—and by looking Madeline in the eye and apologizing properly for what he'd done. For kissing her inappropriately. He had to prove to her, and himself, once and for all, that he could control his urges until they were married.

With a grim nod of determination at his reflection, Adam straightened his back and strode over to the dresser. He pulled on a pair of pants, shrugged on a shirt, and before his brain had any chance of processing what was happening, he'd marched to the door and left his room.

xXXx

His common sense chased him down the darkened hallway, attempting a wild rescue. It caught up to him just as he stumbled to a stop outside Madeline's bedroom, just as he raised an unsteady hand to knock on her door. Adam hesitated, his arm staying suspended in midair. His heart was pounding like thunder in his chest. Blood drummed in his temples and his stomach jittered with nerves. He shook his head roughly, dislodging whatever thread of sound judgement was left. Then, he gave the door a quick rap with his knuckles.

Regret was immediate. It hit him like a punch in the gut, leaving behind a vague feeling of nausea. _What have you done?_ The seconds dragged by like minutes as realization crashed down on him. Deftly, his hand dropped to his side. He shot a panicked glance back down the hall to assess his chances of making it back to the safety of his room before she opened the door. If he went for a sprint, he might make it . . . His own captain's voice suddenly roared in his head, _The hell you will, coward! You faced thousands of rebel soldiers and kept your cool in the heat of battle_ — _you will not run from this!_

Rubbing a clammy palm over his mouth, Adam stood in the darkness, listening carefully. Was she coming? He couldn't hear a thing over the rushing in his ears. A trickle of sweat rolled down his back. Maybe she was asleep. He'd give it another five seconds, then he could leave in good conscience. He grimaced. It was past midnight, _of course_ she was asleep— _everyone_ was asleep except for him! Was that steps approaching on the other side of the door? No, it couldn't be, it was very late, she must be sleepi—

God help him, the door cracked open.

"Adam?"

Her soft, whispery voice swept over him and his knees almost gave out. Adam caught his breath. Holding the door ajar, Madeline stood in the doorway with the dim glow of the bedroom illuminating her from behind. She wore a blue flannel robe over her nightgown and her hair cascaded forwards over her shoulders like a waterfall—the rich, mahogany-brown tresses framing her beautiful face and tumbling all the way to her waist. Her eyes were like two sparkling emeralds, big and questioning, drawing him in. And those full, sensuous lips of hers stayed parted after saying his name as if they were calling out to him, inviting him to possess them once more, promising him another sample of her sweetness. A hot sheath of longing shot through him. This had been an extraordinarily bad idea, he acknowledged. His body unhelpfully informed him that as far as it was concerned, the taste he'd had of her in the morning hadn't been nearly enough.

Madeline's expression quickly turned anxious and she opened the door wider. "What is it, Adam? Are you unwell?"

How like her, to react with genuine concern for him.

Adam swallowed hard to get his mouth to work. "No . . . I'm fine."

His voice sounded gravelly and hoarse. Not very fine.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her brow drawn up, her eyebrows peaking in the middle. "I think we should wake Uncle Paul. You look a little flushed . . ."

She reached her hand out to him, clearly intending to feel his face, and in something that could only be described as desperation, he caught her wrist. If she touched him now, any part of him, he was liable to go up in flames. And he might end up doing something that would send him straight to hell shortly thereafter. They stood frozen for a moment; him holding her wrist in the air, her staring at him in astonishment. Words. He needed to say words.

"Really, I'm . . . fine," he croaked.

Madeline eyed him worriedly, not looking all that convinced. She slowly lowered her hand again and he let go of her wrist. That beautiful, dainty wrist. Things went quiet and Adam took a shuddering breath to steady himself. Little good it did.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he mumbled, rubbing his neck.

"You didn't," she said in a reassuring tone. "I couldn't sleep, so I was doing some needlework." Turning sideways in the doorway, she indicated the bed behind her, lit by a lamp on the night table. Among the rumpled sheets stood a sewing basket, an old one of Marie's, he noted.

"Oh, all right." His eyes made a tentative return to hers. "Me too." He coughed. "That is, I mean I couldn't sleep either, I didn't, uh . . ." He waved a hand in the direction of the sewing basket. "I don't . . . do that."

Madeline gazed at him in slow fascination. "I see . . ."

He made a very manly noise, crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands under his armpits. This wasn't going to plan. Not that he'd thought this thing through very well. Or at all. Watching her, he wondered how in God's name he was going to get through this conversation with her looking . . . like that. Her eyes were shining with lingering concern, concern for _him_ , and her face looked so lovely and welcoming, like it was perfectly acceptable to her that he'd shown up at her door at this improper hour. Lord, the woman was wonderful. His heart took another tumble.

Realizing that he was ogling her like some idiot without saying anything, he snapped open his mouth and blurted, "I just wanted to say goodnight."

She blinked. "Oh." With a delicate twitch of her lips, she tilted her head fractionally to one side. "Again?"

"Yeah, well, I . . ." He trailed off, aware of how utterly foolish he sounded. "Yeah."

Shuffling on the spot, Adam moved his attention to the pinewood door-frame beside him and vaguely considered banging his head against it.

"All right," Madeline said softly. "That was . . . sweet of you."

He heard the gentle smile in her voice, the sincerity. She was doing what she did best—being considerate and patient with him, trying to put him at ease. What she clearly didn't know was that her soothing manner only made him want her even more. Made him ache for her. Silence swelled between them as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He could've sworn it was trying to suffocate him.

After a few seconds, he sensed her shift as if she was about to step closer to him. "Adam, are you sure you're feeling—"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you," he cut her off, rudely. Reaching down deep, _real_ deep, he mustered up the courage to look straight at her face.

Madeline's warm gaze met his and her mouth curved encouragingly. "Yes?"

Adam pulled back his shoulders, but the tension knotting his back made the movement feel as awkward as it probably looked. "Listen, about what happened in my room this morning—about what I did." He paused, annoyed with himself for the unnecessary nonchalance in his voice. "Well, that was a mistake. I know I shouldn't have kissed you like that."

Her lashes fluttered, and the faint smile faded from her face. He watched her features change as she seemed to struggle for a response. "All right," she eventually said, carefully. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking very small, very vulnerable all of a sudden. "Go on . . ."

 _Go on_. She wanted him to go on. What more was he supposed to say? Again, Adam fervently wished he'd just stayed in his room. He was a complete mess these days—he really shouldn't even be allowed to communicate with other people when he got as emotionally overwhelmed as he was tonight. Especially not Madeline. He was handling this terribly.

Giving up all pretense of calmness, he uncrossed his arms and held his open hands out to her as he hurried the next words. "I just wanted to apologize properly for the way I behaved, for putting you in that situation. My head was all . . . I just didn't think." He glanced down at the floor with a sigh. "I realize that what I did wasn't appropriate."

Looking back up at her, he expected to see distress on her face but instead, he found she was regarding him with a strangely intense expression. "It _wasn't,_ " she said.

Adam's hands fell to his sides. Was she asking or confirming? For the life of him, he couldn't tell. What he also couldn't do at that second, was look away from her. She stared at him with eyes like wells, so unfathomably green and so deep, the glimmering surface he could see was just the beginning, a mere hint of the hidden wonders that lay beneath. He wanted to fall into those alluring depths, then and there, and disappear forever.

"Yeah . . ." He heard himself say. He quickly shook his head. "I mean _no_. It definitely _wasn't._ "

Madeline gave the faintest of nods, still watching him. There was a slight pause and she began to nibble her bottom lip. Against his will, Adam's eyes dropped to watch the action for a few dangerous seconds.

"Anyway . . ." He swallowed, his mouth dry as cotton as he lifted his gaze back up to hers. "I just wanted to make sure that things were all right between us and tell you that you don't need to worry. I won't kiss you like that again. I'll be the perfect gentleman from now on, I promise."

Said the man who was having very ungentlemanly thoughts about her right now.

Madeline's delicate eyebrows dipped, indicating she was giving his words careful consideration. She shifted and pulled her robe more firmly around herself. Once again, his eyes betrayed him as they promptly dove to watch the blue fabric cling tighter to her feminine curves.

"Adam, I must be honest with you." Her uncertain tone snapped his attention right back to where it should be—her face. She gave him a serious look. "I have thought a great deal about what happened this morning too . . ."

His heart staggered a beat. So, the kiss _was_ the reason for her odd behavior today. He'd made her uncomfortable just like he'd feared. "You have?" he asked hoarsely.

She bowed her head as if she was having trouble maintaining their eye contact. "Yes. And you must not think that I didn't . . ." The word appeared to elude her for a moment. " _Enjoy_ what you did." She peeked up at him and spoke in a hushed pitch. "I did like the way you kissed me . . ."

Adam couldn't speak. His tongue seemed to be tied in knots as he fought to control the now wild leaping of his pulse.

She regarded him warily. "It's just that I have never felt—" Her chin dipped and she tucked a curl behind her ear. "I suppose I'm just somewhat . . . confused."

He slicked his dry lips. This was dangerous territory. He should end this conversation right now. If he had any sense at all, he would tell her goodnight and leave this instant.

"What, uh . . . what are you confused about?"

He had no sense.

Madeline hesitated, indecision furrowing her brow. She looked so adorable and conflicted just then, it took all of his willpower not to reach for her, pull her to him and confuse her a whole lot more. His brain sparked when she spoke, but instead of replying to his question, she asked a quiet one of her own.

"Why did you do it, Adam?"

He frowned. "Why did I do what?"

"Kiss me like that . . ." She gave him an uncertain glance through her lashes. "If you knew it was so inappropriate, then why did you do it?"

Didn't she know? God, was she really so naive? His earlier fantasies about her came flooding back and so did that tightening sensation in his gut. He had his answer. Yes, clearly, she was. And completely unaware of what she was doing to him.

Madeline awaited his reply, her luminous eyes peering up at him. Against his better judgement, which was nothing but a distant memory after tonight anyway, Adam answered her honestly. "Because I couldn't help myself . . ."

Her pupils dilated, coal-black drowning out forest green. "You . . . you couldn't _help_ yourself?" she echoed.

"Yes, that's why I did it." He was mildly surprised at how calm he sounded, considering what he was admitting. "I couldn't help it. I just _had_ to, Madeline."

For what felt like a breathless instant of stalled time, she simply stared at him. Then, a small squeak-like sound tore from her throat and her eyes flickered away. Adam felt his nerves settle down with the knowledge that she, obviously, was as affected by him as he was by her. A rush of pleasure filled him at the thought. He moved a half step closer to her—one precarious half-step.

"You didn't answer my question." His voice came out silky and husky and he didn't even try to do anything about it. Knowing full well he was playing with fire, he asked, "What are you confused about? Honey . . ."

Madeline began fidgeting with the chord of her robe in yet another gesture that tested his tilting resolve to stay on the appropriate side of the wooden threshold at his feet. The tension between them grew thicker than steam. Suddenly, she jerked her chin up, facing him with a trembling smile. "Perhaps I misspoke. It isn't so much that I am confused, I think, but more that I've been . . ." Her smile faltered. "Well, wondering. A little bit." She ducked her head again. "One might say . . ."

Adam couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from curling up. "All right," he said, keeping his tone warm and smooth as he propped a shoulder against the door frame and leaned closer to her. "What have you been _wondering_ about then?"

He saw her throat contract in a swallow. She made another valiant attempt at looking up at him. "You make me feel things I've never felt before and sometimes . . ." Her cheeks took on a pinkish flush. "I . . . those feelings are so very strong to me, sometimes it's almost . . . frightening."

That last, shaky word had an instant sobering effect on him. She was _frightened?_ _He_ frightened her? His stomach went hollow as that sank in. His heart pounding, Adam stood up straight and forced himself to speak very softly.

"Sweetheart, I don't want you to be afraid of me. _Ever._ "

An almost pained look crossed her face. "Oh, Adam, I'm not afraid of you. At least, not in the way you might think . . ."

He was puzzled by her afterthought, but before he could question her about it, she turned huge, worried eyes on him and burst out, "You do love me, don't you?"

For a stunned second, he gaped at her. "Of course, I do—Madeline, you _know_ I do." Without even thinking about it, he grabbed one of her hands and held it tightly. "Honey, what's going on? Why would you even ask me that?"

"I . . . oh, I don't know—" She shook her head, her hair bouncing wildly with the movement. "I'm sorry, I am being silly. I think I've just been feeling a bit . . . overwhelmed tonight."

"Overwhelmed?" He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, fighting down the alarm rising in him. "Overwhelmed by what?"

Her small shoulders heaved with a distressed sigh. "Oh, just—by everything that has happened this last month, by the uncertainty of the future . . ." She shifted her gaze up to his. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and her face fell in deep dismay. "But most of all . . . I feel overwhelmed by you."

Her proclamation came in such a solemn tone, Adam felt a faint prick of amusement breaking through his unease. He cautiously placed his free hand against his chest. " _Me_?"

Madeline nodded, her serious eyes fixed on him. Slowly, she retracted her hand from his grip and folded her arms. "Yes, _you,_ Adam. And do you know why? Do you know why I am confused and overwhelmed?" She huffed in despair and barreled over him before he could answer her. "Well, to be perfectly honest, it's because you make me feel very _downright_ strange."

Taken by surprise, Adam nearly choked on a laugh. He'd never heard her say that word before. The way she used it suggested this was her first attempt. She must've picked it up from one of his brothers. He regarded her quietly for a few seconds. There was mild disapproval showing in her features, and her nose stayed adorably wrinkled as she kept studying him with that intense look in her eyes—as if he were a puzzle that couldn't be solved. There was no doubt about it. She was the most captivating creature ever created. She was also making it almost impossible to keep his hands to himself.

He propped himself against the doorway again and tilted his head in apology.

"I'm very sorry about that."

Madeline's expression remained grave as she nodded again.

"But if it's any consolation to you . . ." He gave her a crooked smile. "You make me feel _very_ downright strange too."

Something shifted in her serious demeanor. The tension gradually melted from her face. He sensed the beginnings of a smile playing at her mouth as they gazed into each other's eyes. Call him weak, call him foolish—he couldn't resist touching her. Leaning closer, he lifted his hand and gently cupped her cheek. He watched her eyes drift closed at the contact—heard her quick intake of breath. Instinctively, she nestled her face into his palm. A jolt of pure, masculine satisfaction surged through him. _He_ did that to her. _He_ had that effect on her. With the pad of his thumb, he traced a line down her cheek—the innocent, tender gesture stirring his desire for her all over again. He marveled at the satin texture of her skin and wondered if the rest of her would feel equally soft beneath his hand. Oh, it would. He knew it would . . .

"What you said about being overwhelmed by everything that's happened," he murmured, caressing her face. "None of it matters now, honey. It's all behind us. As for the uncertainty of the future . . ." His thumb trailed down, all the way to the corner of her mouth where he stopped. Her lips parted slightly, like she needed more air to breathe and his blood heated at the sight.

His voice lowered to a throaty pitch. "I told you I was going to take care of you from now on, remember that?"

Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "Yes . . ."

Her warm breath passed over his thumb, tingling on his skin. He inhaled deeply, the tempting scent of her filling his nostrils, flogging his senses. " _That's_ the future, Madeline. Yours and mine."

He said it with gruffness, with promise.

His touch feather-light, he slid his thumb over the soft cushion of her bottom lip. They stood so close together, he felt the responding quiver run through her body. Moving his hand down, he gently held her chin in his fingers.

"Let me see your eyes, sweetheart . . ."

Her lashes fluttered open, revealing her deep green eyes—slightly unfocused, clouded with passion. He knew he could kiss her now and she wouldn't stop him. She was already too lost in the feeling. Gazing down at her flushed face, knowing there was a bed with rumpled sheets a few feet behind her—it was almost too much. And he knew it was time to make his escape. He needed to get away, _now_ , before he did something incredibly stupid. Something that would make all other stupid things he'd done in his life pale in comparison. Calling on every last ounce of his self-control, Adam pulled back. He withdrew his fingers from her face and his whole hand ached from the loss.

"I should go," he said quietly. "Let you get some sleep."

Madeline stared at him, confused, her eyes still slightly cloudy. Then she blinked rapidly, several times, clearing them. "Y-yes, all right . . ."

She focused on him with effort, doing her little lip-nibble again. Adam groaned on the inside. It was definitely time to go. He was about to step backwards out into the hall when her voice rushed at him.

"Adam are you—" She stopped and screwed her eyes shut, then opened them again. "Are you . . . all right now?"

The worry had suddenly come back into her tone. Surprised, he watched her closely. "Yes, I'm fine."

His reassurance didn't seem to reassure her at all though. Her hands twisted together as she regarded him with a deepening frown, like she had something to say but couldn't decide if she should. It suddenly rushed out of her. "I am sorry about today. I'm sorry we didn't have our walk together and about what happened with Uncle Paul. I realize this was a terrible day for you and I wish I—" She broke off and expelled a trembling breath. "I know you have so many things troubling you already . . ."

The naked distress on her face ripped unexpectedly at his heart, and he felt a wave of emotion rise up inside him. He forced a smile for her. "Don't you worry about that. I'll be all right."

Shimmering with concern, her eyes searched his. "Will you?"

"Of course." He kept a steady gaze and did his half-smile. "As long as I have you."

A ripple of something he couldn't quite discern passed over her face. Then it was gone as she quirked a very soft smile. "You have me."

They looked at each other for five wavering seconds longer. Then, he took a definitive step backwards.

"Sleep well, honey."

Holding the door, she spoke with soft sincerity. "And you . . ."

She stepped back into her room and their eyes held until the door closed with a soft click.

The hallway became quiet as a tomb. Adam blasted out an explosive breath. _Damn it, that was close._ Shaking his head at himself, he turned and started down the dark hall. He'd taken three steps when a deep voice spoke behind him.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

xXXx

Ben watched in reluctant fascination as his oldest son jumped so high, he almost hit his head on the ceiling. With a startled yelp, Adam half-rotated his body in mid-air and landed awkwardly on his feet, stumbling backwards two steps.

"Pa!" He grabbed his chest and steadied himself against the wall with his other hand. "My God . . . you scared the hide off me . . ."

Stepping out of the shadowed doorway of his bedroom, Ben slowly held up his oil lamp, purposely letting the gloomy light illuminate his grave expression.

"Good," he rumbled darkly. "The fear you just felt is still nothing compared to what you would be feeling if it were Paul standing here instead of me right now."

Adam dropped his head and released a shaky breath as if he'd been holding it. Then he looked up again, evidently having regained enough composure to scowl.

"I'll ask you again," Ben whispered, his voice hoarse from the strain of holding onto his temper. "What the devil are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" His scowl deepening, Adam pushed away from the wall. "I'm not doing anything."

Ben felt his neck grow hot as anger flared up through his chest. What did he take him for?!

"Son, I just _saw_ you!" he hissed, stabbing a finger at the now closed bedroom door three feet away from them. "I saw you coming out of . . . _her_ room!"

Adam's mouth fell open as if it was on a hinge and his eyes widened to their fullest extent. "WHAT?!"

"SHHHHH!" Ben flapped his hands at him, almost dropping the lamp.

They both glanced frantically around themselves, then faced each other again.

"I wasn't coming out of—" Adam stopped himself and lowered his voice. "I wasn't coming _out_ of her room, Pa—I wasn't even _inside_ her room—I never even crossed the threshold!"

"Then what did I just see, boy?!"

"Don't call me b—"

"What in damnation were you doing, Adam?!"

Their whisper-shouting ceased as they glared at each other, the lamp hovering in the air between them, reflecting in both of their fiery gazes. When Adam didn't reply, Ben's over-stretched nerves snapped. "Of all the dadblasted—if you were a few years younger, I'd be taking you and this conversation out to the barn!"

Clamping his lips tight, Adam gave him a look that could have withered a cactus in a split-second. Then, rising to his full height, he spun on his heel and marched down the darkened hall.

Stunned at being walked away from, Ben watched his son merge in with the shadows. Once his shock subsided:

"Oh no, you don't . . ."

He stalked after him, his burgundy robe flying behind him like a cape, his slippers nearly leaving his feet. Ahead, Adam disappeared through the doorway to his room and Ben followed just a few paces behind. He stormed inside and shut the door behind him more forcefully than intended. Adam, already halfway across the room towards the moonlit dresser, jerked at the slam and cast an icy glare over his shoulder that clearly said what he thought about being followed.

Unmoved by his son's attempt at intimidation, Ben strode over to him. He set the lamp down on the dresser and assumed a menacing, cross-armed stance. "Explain yourself. _Now_."

Adam focused on his shirt while he began undoing the buttons. "I just needed to talk to her privately, that's all."

"All right, what was so urgent that you needed to talk to her _privately_ at this time of night?"

Stopping with his buttons, Adam briefly closed his eyes as if he were trying to wish his father away. Well, Ben wasn't going anywhere, not before he got to the bottom of this. Opening his eyes again, Adam finally supplied a usable answer, though, through clenched teeth. "I needed to make things right after the way I behaved this morning."

"This morning?" Ben's eyebrows winged upward as he tried to recall the conversation they'd had on the picnic. "You mean that thing you told me about where you'd behaved like an idiot with her?"

Adam exhaled in a huff of exasperation. "Yes, Pa, _that_ thing . . ."

For a second, Ben got the feeling he considered rolling his eyes at him. Good thing the boy had enough sense not to try it.

Narrowing his gaze on him, he asked, "What exactly _was_ this idiot-thing you did?"

In stubborn silence, Adam continued with the buttons on his shirt.

"Adam . . ." Ben dropped his voice to a warning tone—the tone he used to convey that his patience was all but exhausted. "I asked you a question."

Whirling around to him, Adam flung a hand out. "Look Pa, she came in here, we talked for a while and I—I . . ." he stuttered to a stop.

"And you what . . .?"

Muttering incoherently, Adam swung away to face the wall next to them.

" _And-you-what_?" Ben demanded, slowing his speech and over-pronouncing every word as he stared at the side of his son's face.

Adam's shoulders lifted high. " _And . . ._ I kissed her."

Ben bit down on his tongue. Now, that revelation required a moment's thought. No, it required two. Leveling stern eyes on his firstborn, he finally said, "By that, I take it you don't mean just a peck on the lips."

A telling silence ensued.

Bowing his head, Ben felt exasperation seeping into every old bone. Tarnation, this boy. He might have expected this sort of behavior from one son of his, but certainly not this one. What the devil was he thinking! Well, clearly, he wasn't. Despite his irritation, Ben felt the worst of his anger rapidly subsiding as a sense of relief began to set in. That gut-churning feeling of dread dissipated as he realized that whatever had happened between Adam and Madeline—in either of their bedrooms—it _hadn't_ gone beyond kissing. Though, by Adam's reluctance to share this information, Ben could well imagine the nature of the kissing involved. Still, it wasn't nearly as bad as what he'd initially feared. However, he wasn't going to let his impetuous son see his relief just yet.

Arranging his features into an appropriately severe expression, he looked up again. He found Adam still facing the wall, cradling his left arm to his chest. With a strict look he'd perfected over many years of being a father, Ben pinned a disapproving gaze on him. Outwardly, Adam appeared completely unaffected. Except for the nerve that began twitching in his cheek. They stood like that for quite some time.

"Don't give me that look," Adam eventually muttered, to the wall.

"How can you know what look I'm giving you?" Ben continued to stare him down. "You're not even facing me."

"I can feel it."

Ben dropped his chin again, summoning inner strength.

Abandoning his wall-stare, Adam turned to him. "Come on Pa, I just—" He shoved a hand through his unruly hair. "Don't tell me you don't remember what it was like when you were young and in love."

Jerking his head back up, Ben snapped, "Thunderation Adam, I'm not telling you not to kiss her—I'm telling you not to do it with _Paul_ in the next room! For the love of God, be discreet about it." On a less angry, rumblier note, he added, "For all our sakes."

His rebuke had the desired effect as almost immediately, Adam slipped his hands into his back pockets and dropped his eyes to the floor, looking appropriately chastised. A beat of silence passed.

"Are we clear on this matter?"

"Yes, sir . . ."

Ben jerked a nod. "Good." He pointed a finger at him. "And don't you go lurking around her bedroom at this hour anymore."

Mumbling a word he would have scolded his sons for saying, he wiped the sleeve of his robe across his forehead. He was sweating. This whole thing had him sweating.

Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, peering up at him from beneath his brows.

"Pa, you didn't really think I would . . ." His words dwindled away as he gave a nervous shrug and offered a slight half-smile that he probably hoped looked innocent. Ben felt the distinctive urge to shake him. Fortunately, he overcame it.

"I don't know . . ." he mumbled, watching him with ominously lowered eyebrows. "I certainly raised you to know better. I've also never seen you act the way you do around her with any other girl before." He paused and added with a pointed look, "I trust you'll show better judgement from now on."

His lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile, Adam snorted. "I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. I'm showing about as much good judgement these days as Joe. _Less_ . . ."

As if he was suddenly overcome with exhaustion, his shoulders dropped an inch. Giving up on his half-unbuttoned shirt, he stepped past Ben, went over to the bed and practically collapsed onto it—so heavily, he bounced twice on the mattress before settling. Then, he just sat there with his head down, elbows resting on his thighs, scrubbing his face with his hands. Right away, Ben's heartstrings stirred. The remaining steam left him as he regarded his son, taking in his obvious weariness. Despite his displeasure, he knew his boy well. Adam didn't need a lecture or anymore reprimanding words. He'd punished himself enough already. Frowning, Ben went over to the bed and took a seat next to him.

"Rough day, hmm . . ."

Lifting his head, Adam looked ahead of himself and spread out his hands, palms up. His mouth opened but no sound came out at first, as if he didn't even know where to begin. Finally, he said, " _Everything_ I did today . . . turned into a _disaster_."

Ben's heart melted. The statement was so strongly felt and there was a touch of very rare helplessness in his son's voice. He didn't say anything, just offered the quiet room for him to continue.

"I know it was wrong what I did with Madeline . . ." Adam's eyes flitted downwards. "And I know I was in a bad mood for the picnic and everyone felt it. I tried to make up for it. Then I tried to do the right thing for Madeline by asking for Paul's permission and—" He choked out a bitter laugh. "Well, you saw how that turned out . . ."

Ben took a minute to digest that revelation. The fishing episode with Paul had been at the back of his mind all evening and the thing that had troubled him most about the whole drama was his old friend's unusually harsh behavior towards Adam. This new information gave him fresh insight on the matter.

"So . . ." He harrumphed. " _That's_ what you were talking to Paul about before the, ah . . . incident?"

Adam's back drooped dejectedly. "I was just getting around to it when all hell broke loose. I didn't actually get to ask him . . ."

Ben winced in sympathy, knowing how important it must have been for him to ask that question. Unable to resist, he reached over and gave his son a gentle thump. "You know how Paul can be," he said, massaging Adam's shoulder. "He'll come around."

"I somehow doubt that physically assaulting him has made him warm up to me any," Adam said grimly, staring at the floor.

Ben pressed his mouth closed and swallowed down an unexpected chuckle. It was unlikely that Adam would see even a tiny bit of humor in the situation now. Well, perhaps someday . . .

"Give it time," he said, releasing his shoulder with a squeeze.

Sighing, Adam ran a hand through his hair for the second time, making it stick up even more messily. Ben observed, his mouth turning down in displeasure. The boy needed a haircut. Granted, he'd had a lot on his mind, and maybe shaving wasn't a top priority for him these days, but this hair of his was simply getting out of hand. It was longer than Joe's had ever been. His dismayed thoughts were interrupted by Adam's voice.

"I'm going to be staying far away from Paul the next few days, that's for sure," he mumbled rubbing his bearded chin. "I need to focus on Madeline and make up for the way I've been acting . . ."

At that, Ben reluctantly spied an opening to bring something up—the _other_ thing that had been nagging the back of his mind most of the evening. He didn't know how Adam would react to this, but had a feeling that a cautious approach to the subject would be best.

Steeling himself, he folded his hands in his lap and said, "Paul and I spoke earlier while we were having a brandy together. . ." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "He's going back to Virginia City on Sunday."

Adam blinked and looked sideways at him. Their gazes locked for long seconds until Ben saw realization dawn in the hazel depths. Then, Adam glanced away again, his features a familiar mask of indifference. "Just because Paul's leaving, doesn't mean Madeline is." His voice was cool and held no emotion.

Ben considered him for a moment. "Actually . . . I'd say that's exactly what it means."

Although Adam's expression remained unchanged, Ben caught the stiffening of his spine. It told him all he needed to know.

"Son," he said, maintaining a calm tone. "Paul _is_ her only family. He _is_ responsible for her."

"I'm sure he wants her to go back with him," Adam ground out, "but maybe that's not what _she_ wants. Maybe she wants to stay here, all right?"

He kept his glaring eyes forwards, and Ben studied his profile. There it was—that familiar flare of temper, the temper he knew all too well—his _own_ temper passed on. He recognized the defensiveness, evident in the taut set of his son's shoulders, in the stiff jut of his jaw. And, he recognized the uncertainty that lurked underneath all the tension.

"Has she told you she wants to stay?" he asked softly.

"Has she told _you_ she wants to leave?" Adam snapped, facing him.

In the dim light, his hazel eyes appeared darker than usual, dark like earth itself, and sudden flecks of gold flashed in his irises, like strikes of lightning. Ben held his glittering gaze steadily and answered with complete control. "There's no need to use that tone with me, boy."

In the same instant, the surface of Adam's hardened expression seemed to fracture, his stare wavering. He tipped his face down, averting his eyes. "All I'm saying is . . . she might want to stay here with us a little while longer. I . . . under the circumstances, I think it would be best for her."

Sighing inwardly, Ben regarded him with a measuring stare. "Don't do that to her, Adam."

His tone was cuttingly direct, like his words. They left a thick tension hovering in the room.

Adam's face stayed down-turned. "Do what . . ."

Ben held his reply. The fact that Adam seemed unable to look up at him suggested he knew exactly what they were talking about here. They both knew it.

"Don't put her in a situation where she's forced to choose between you and Paul."

It needed to be said out loud. Relief fell over Ben, now that he had.

Weakly, Adam shook his head. "That's not what I'm—" He massaged his temples with his fingertips. "That's not what I'm doing . . ."

His eyes swooped closed for a minute. Like many times before, Ben watched him clamp down on his emotions. He sensed him wrestling with himself to get back under that tight control. It worked. tremendously well. When Adam opened his eyes again, his expression had hardened like granite and now, his voice came out measured and carefully controlled.

"What do you think it's gonna be like for her in town, Pa?" he asked, slanting him a challenging look. "We left complete _chaos_ behind when we left that day of the shootout. The gossip must be running like wildfire—the town folk have had over a week to talk about nothing else." His face darkened. "By now, everyone knows who Ray Bradshaw was and what he did. And what his relation to Madeline is."

Ben's mouth flattened to a stiff line. It was something he'd thought a lot about too. "Gossip is inevitable after all that's happened," he agreed. "We know how people around here feel about swindlers let alone murderers. But Madeline had nothing to do with his crimes. She came here looking for a new life and Lord knows, no one can blame her for keeping her past and marriage a secret."

"I understand that, and you understand it," Adam said, sounding impatient. "But you know how rumors fly—how people talk and turn stories around. There's bound to be some folks who _won't_ understand that Madeline is just a victim in all of this." His eyes sharpened with fierce purpose. "And I'm not about to let anyone upset her after the hell she's been through."

The steel in his voice matched his gaze.

"So, your plan is to keep her here on the Ponderosa forever to shield her from what _might_ be said about her?" Ben probed, knowing he was pushing and knowing it needed to be done.

"I'm not saying that." Adam exhaled through his nostrils. "I just don't think she's ready to go back yet. She won't know what to expect and _I_ won't be there to protect her."

"Mmh. Don't you think you're slightly underestimating her ability to take care of herself?"

Adam glowered at him. "It's not that I don't think she can take care of herself, it's—" He cut himself off, suddenly dropping his forehead in his palms as if exhaustion was getting the better of him again. Staying in that position, he spoke very quietly. "When she's here with me, I can see for myself that she's all right and taken care of. And it's . . . it's nice having her here."

There it was again, that note of helplessness in his voice. It made it even more difficult for Ben to say what now needed to be said. While there was no doubt his son genuinely worried about Madeline and her going back to Virginia City, he also knew what Adam clearly wasn't willing to admit. That he wanted Madeline to stay not just for her own sake, but for _his_. As much as Ben would like to put his son's needs first, he couldn't do that now. Not this time.

"Regardless of what you think, this decision isn't yours," he said with slow emphasis. " _Nor_ is it Paul's. It's up to Madeline to make her own choices and you need to respect that, both of you."

Adam's shoulders sagged and Ben felt a sharp twinge in his chest. But his mind was made up. For more than a week he'd watched this thing between his old friend and son spiral out of control and from here on, the only side he would be taking in this triangle would be Madeline's. The poor girl needed someone to speak up for her for once. Knowing there was no way around it, he abruptly said, "Madeline has been worried about being away from Virginia City."

As expected, Adam instantly faced him, his brows knitted tightly. "What do you mean?"

Ben's eyes softened a bit. He gentled his tone as he explained. "Well, she's worried about neglecting her responsibilities by being away for this long. Her job at the restaurant, her work as a nurse, the social club. She does have a life there, you know. A life she's worked very hard to build." His mouth lifted wryly. "And she was working at it months before _you_ even came home and met her." That comment earned him an annoyed look, but it was the truth, nonetheless. "She's gone through a lot to become accepted as part of our community and it's very important to her." Ben eyed his son evenly. "You know that better than anyone."

Adam eyed him right back for an extended moment before turning away. He looked down at his hands, his inner turmoil etched clearly across his face as he struggled with the information.

"When did she—" He cleared his throat. "She hasn't said anything to me about all this . . ."

The waver in his voice didn't go unnoticed. Ben resisted the urge to reach for his shoulder again and replied with deliberate softness. "She and I had a brief talk about it a couple of days ago. While you were having some of your . . . _quiet time_ out in the barn." It was the kindest way he could think of to phrase it, but Adam's features tightened like he was in pain. "As for her not saying anything to you about it . . ." Ben smiled affectionately. "I think she simply didn't want to concern you with it. You've had a lot on your mind and that young lady seems to spend a great deal of time worrying about you."

At that, Adam hung his head, his expression crumbling into utter remorse. "I didn't know . . ."

Sympathy flooded Ben but he knew his son wouldn't welcome it. Adam's guilt had been sliced open and now it bled like a fresh wound. There was nothing to do about it. It needed time to heal.

"Now you do," he simply said.

In the following quiet, Ben gave him time to collect himself. He hadn't meant to cause him any more grief tonight—the young man was hurting enough already. But these things had needed saying. Now, maybe they could move on. It was a couple of minutes before Adam raised his head again. His deepest feelings were masked as usual, but for once, he did nothing to cover his weariness as he sat with his shoulders hunched, hands dangling between his legs. Giving into the fatherly urge, Ben placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Their eyes connected briefly. Nothing more was needed.

Sensing it was time to take his leave, Ben hesitated before standing up. There was one last thing he wanted to mention, something this conversation had brought to his mind.

"You still haven't told Madeline about what Bradshaw did, have you?" he asked carefully. "About the railroad scam and the murder of Robert Wickworth?"

Adam gave a slight head-shake and released a slow breath. "No. She's been through so much because of that man. I just hate to bring it up and upset her all over again."

"Mm." It was what he'd expected to hear. And he felt compelled to give one last piece of advice. "I understand that. But sooner or later she has to hear the full extent of his crimes. And she ought to hear it from you _and_ Paul."

"Yeah." Adam closed his eyes. "I know."

Ben knew it was time to leave him be. He gave him another affectionate back-clap then leaned forwards, pushing himself to his feet with a groan. "Right, I'm going to get that glass of water I initially got out of bed for." He lowered expectant eyes on his son. "Are you going to get some sleep now?"

Mutely, Adam moved his head in what Ben took for agreement.

"Good."

Expecting no more words out of him tonight, Ben walked over to collect the lamp from the dresser. On his way, he was mildly puzzled to notice a pillow lying on the floor up against the wall.

With the lamp in hand, he headed to the door, opened it, but then paused in the doorway and turned back around.

"Adam, this thing with you and Paul . . ." He waited until Adam met his gaze. "Just remember that she needs both of you."

Adam stared back at him, his face unreadable. Ben felt that stare boring into his back as he turned away. He felt it as he stepped out in the hall and even when he closed the door behind him, he sensed it still, piercing through the wood.

Sighing, he walked down the dark hallway, muttering to himself. "And both of you need her . . ."


	44. Chapter 44

**_Author's Notes_**

 _Hi everybody!_

 _Yes, finally, I return..._

 _I want to give a very late but heartfelt thank you for all the delightful reviews on the last chapter! :) Thank you Guests and Members. As always, your response is a massive help to me and it lets me know what you guys like, what works and what I should try to do more of. I will be raising the "hotness level" in future Adam/Madeline romantic scenes, and we'll see how it goes!_

 _I realize this update is disgracefully late coming to you, but I do hope you're up for a bit of reading._ _As A dear Reader once pointed out in a review, I like to sneak in little sub-plots around the main story line and you might have noticed there have been a couple of "loose ends" hanging about in the last few chapters. A little reminder since I've taken so long with this: There's mention of some missing cattle in chap 37 and there's the aftermath of the picnic/disastrous fishing trip in 42 which still needs to be dealt with. Some of these things will be addressed now._ _This chapter picks up the morning after Adam's risky midnight-visit to Madeline's room._

 _I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend and that you get some enjoyment out of this chapter. And more is coming tomorrow! :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 44**

It was almost breakfast time when Madeline stepped out of her bedroom holding an armful of mended clothes. She had overslept, much to her dismay, and the scent of freshly baked biscuits floating up the staircase told her that it was too late for her to help Hop Sing In the kitchen. She hadn't intended to sleep so long, but after Adam's unexpected visit to her room last night she'd been lying awake for a long time, too full of thoughts to sleep. She only hoped he had gotten some decent rest during the night. After the day he'd had yesterday, she knew he'd needed it.

Pushing down her ever-present worry for him, Madeline hoisted up her pink checkered skirt with her free hand and hurried down the staircase. Everything seemed quiet downstairs but when she reached the landing, she spotted her uncle sitting in the blue chair by the fireplace. A slight smile came to her lips as she paused to watch him. His journal lay propped upon his crossed legs and his head was bent, his face set in deep concentration. He was wearing his glasses today, she noted, and it was clear he was far too engrossed in his writing to have sensed her approach. She descended the last steps and walked straight to him.

"Good morning Uncle Paul," she said, bending down to place a little kiss on his cheek.

He stopped scribbling and blinked owlishly up at her through his spectacles. Then he smiled. "Why, good morning, my Belle."

She touched his shoulder lightly. "Are your eyes troubling you again?"

"Pfft, nonsense." He dismissed her concern with a flick of his hand. "My eyes are in excellent condition. I'm merely humoring Ben. He had the preposterous idea I was squinting at my notes while I was writing earlier."

Madeline suppressed a smile. "I see . . ."

He closed his journal with an annoyed grunt. Pushing the glasses down the bridge of his nose, he peered over the tops of the rims at the grandfather clock across the room. "You certainly slept in today, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, I know, I—" She halted and flushed. "I . . . it took me a little while to fall asleep last night," she hastily finished and focused intently on the pile of clothes in her arms. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to come up with some way of controlling these untimely blushing spells. Her face seemed to be turning red with alarming frequency these days.

Before he could question her about her difficulty sleeping, she quickly held out his charcoal vest to him. "Here you are, Uncle. As good as new, just as promised."

The doctor took the vest, unfolded it and held it out in front of himself. "Thank you, dear." He squinted at the fabric. "My . . . you can't even tell it was torn . . ."

"That's right." Tilting her head, she eyed him for a moment. "So, you see, it really wasn't worth making a fuss over . . . was it?" she asked gently.

"Hmpf. I suppose not."

Grumbling under his breath, he began folding the vest again and Madeline watched, feeling a mixture of affection and exasperation. It was very hard to stay displeased with him when she loved him so dearly. She did shake her head at him—an act he either didn't notice or chose to ignore. The latter was more likely the case. Deciding to change the subject, she glanced around the room and asked, "Where is everyone?"

As if on cue, Hoss came lumbering out of the kitchen with a biscuit in hand. He smiled broadly at her. "Mornin' Miss Madeline!"

Madeline returned the smile, full measure. "Good morning, Hoss. Oh, I have that shirt for you here . . ." She shifted the pile in her arms and looked for the white wool shirt he'd given her the previous evening.

"Gee, thanks Ma'am."

He took a large bite of biscuit and headed over to her but just as he was rounding the settee, the front door opened and Adam and Joe walked in.

He stopped and waved his biscuit at them. "'Ornin' Follas."

Adam immediately landed a hard stare on him. "Tidy up after yourself when you're finished in the barn, will you?" He threw the door shut behind him. "This is the second morning I'm putting your tools away for you."

The bite of biscuit went down with an audible gulp. "Sorry Adam." Hoss winced. "I plumb forgot."

"What the heck are you up to anyways?" Joe asked, crossing the room while shrugging out of his green jacket. "You've been sneaking around out there every morning these last few days."

"Don't you worry none about that, shortshanks." Hoss jutted out his chin at him. "And l ain't sneakin' around."

"Well, you're doing somethin' out in that barn." Joe slung his jacket over the back of the settee and poked a finger deep into his big brother's belly. "And it sure as heck isn't mucking out stalls, I know that much."

Madeline was only half-listening to the brothers' conversation as she attempted to get a proper look at Adam. Quite a challenge since most of him was hidden behind Hoss's bulk in front of her. From where she stood, she could only see the back of his head as he went over to hang his jacket up on one of the wall hooks by the front door. It didn't seem like he'd noticed her yet. Rearranging the clothes-pile in her arms, she stepped up next to Hoss who was now full-on scowling at Joe.

"Why do you gotta poke yur nose in my business all the dang time, Joe?"

"Because you're being sneaky—that's why. You big oaf."

"Boys, boys . . ." came her uncle's tired voice from behind her. Madeline remained politely quiet.

"I ain't bein' sneaky and I ain't no oaf neither." Hoss jerked his biscuit at his younger brother. "You better quit bein' so dang nosy or ya might end up breakin' that latest black-eye record of yours sooner than you think."

Joe held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "All right, all right, whatever you say. But I know you're up to something. And I'm gonna find out what it is . . ."

His eyes took on a wicked glimmer. Then, moving faster than a speeding bullet, he snatched the half-eaten biscuit right out of Hoss's hand and popped the entire thing into his mouth. Stunned, Hoss gawked at him. Madeline lifted a hand to her lips to hide her smile.

"Dadburnit Little Joe!"

Chortling and choking on the biscuit, Joe barely evaded Hoss's lunge and spun around, rushing towards Adam who still had his back turned. Grabbing him by the upper arms, Joe jerked him around—evidently opting to use his oldest brother as a human shield as Hoss came charging towards them like an enraged bull.

"WHAT THE—" Adam jolted free of Joe's grip, almost losing his footing. He whipped a hand out and grabbed him by the collar, eliciting a strangled squeak from the younger man. "HOLD IT!" he snapped, halting Hoss at the last second with a palm square against his massive chest "All right, you two nitwits—that's IT!" He gave Joe a rough shake and glared back and forth between his siblings. "It's too early for this kind of idiocy. You either take this outside or I swear I'll—"

His voice cut off when his incensed gaze swung and caught on Madeline. It was obvious by his surprised expression that he hadn't known she was there.

"Oh." He let go of Joe's collar. "Good morning."

Madeline regarded the three brothers fondly. Joe's eyes were watering—his mouth crimped and his cheeks puffed out with biscuit—Hoss ducked his head, looking like a guilty schoolboy and Adam licked his lips, staring at her.

She smiled at them. "Good morning."

From behind her came a long, weary sigh. "You three . . ."

There was some ruffling of papers followed by pencil scribbling, indicating her uncle had returned to his journal.

In the blessed, bicker-free silence, Madeline took the opportunity to assess Adam. Thankfully, he didn't look as tired today and he was less pale, probably because of being out in the sun yesterday. She bit down on her bottom lip. Goodness . . . he did look handsome this morning. A little scruffy with his unruly hair and whiskers but decidedly handsome. What particularly caught her eye was the red shirt he was wearing. She couldn't recall ever seeing him in anything other than black and white . . .

Her attention was diverted when Adam broke his stare on her to flick a glance at his brothers. Brief annoyance flashed in his eyes and he wriggled his shoulders as if to dislodge his irritation with them. Then he straightened his back and stepped away from them like they were some unpleasant thing of the past. He crossed the room and her heart, which seemed determined to act unpredictably whenever he was near, started doing that strange fluttering business in her chest. He stopped right in front of her, wearing an almost bashful smile. It did peculiar things to her insides.

"Did you, uh, sleep well?" he asked, scratching his ear.

"Oh, yes. Incredibly well," she lied. And very convincingly if she did say so herself.

He slipped his hands into his back pockets. "That's good . . ."

"Oh, yes, very."

Their gazes stayed locked two seconds longer than propriety allowed. Madeline looped a curl behind her ear and nodded at his shirt. "Red . . .?"

He glanced down at himself. "Yeah, I ran out of black ones. I guess Hop Sing's fallen behind on the laundry."

She nodded. "Well, I think it's . . ." She trailed off, gesturing with a hand in the air, searching for an appropriate word. "It's really very . . ." Without thinking it through, she reached out to touch the fabric and, for some unfathomable reason, her hand decided to settle on his upper arm. Of all places! Her stomach dipped as she felt his hard muscle hidden beneath the soft cotton of his sleeve. Adam glanced down to where her hand seemed quite happy to remain, then he looked back at her face. There was a flicker of heated interest in his eyes as if her touch had awakened something in him. Her pulse sped up. She finally regained enough sense to withdraw her hand from him, but she was unable to tear her gaze free of his. The slow intensity building in his hazel depths suddenly had her pinned in place. Again, she made an attempt at speech. "I . . . I think it's . . ."

Adam quirked a brow ever so slightly. "Nice . . .?"

"Yes!" she blurted.

Very loudly. Dear Heaven. Madeline forced herself to blink hard twice to get her brain back in working order. But when she looked at him again, her mind betrayed her in the cruelest of ways by presenting her with the image of him standing outside her bedroom door—hair rumpled, shirt untucked, and, oh, barefoot. To her utter dread, she felt heat creep up her neck and seep into her cheeks. Every indecent thought she'd had about him in the night now came flooding back and it felt as though they were on full display. Did he know what she was thinking? Goodness, she prayed not. The growing silence around her was drowned out by the thunder of her heart. She continued to stare deep into his irresistible eyes, amazed at how dark they had become—dark with some emotion she now recognized but still couldn't quite read. Those eyes were the only thing keeping her from glancing down to the other part of him she'd fantasized so much about last night. His lips . . .

"Thank you," he murmured in a deep, rough voice, breaking the spell.

Good gracious. She was fairly sure Hop Sing could walk out, crack an egg on her face and fry it if he so pleased.

"Well . . ." she breathed after an excruciatingly long while. They stared at each other a few seconds longer. Then she pasted on an overly bright smile. "I have some mended shirts for you gentlemen!"

She jerked away from him and looked to Hoss and Joe who were smiling. Well, smirking, rather. Even more flustered, she focused on her armload of clothes and began sorting through it. Not an easy task with hands as unsteady as hers currently elected to be.

"Hoss, here is yours . . . and these are for you, Joe."

The brothers came over to take the items and thanked her politely. One of Adam's black shirts was left, but rather than risk further embarrassment, Madeline kept her face down-turned and simply held it out in his direction so he could take it. There was a moment's pause as she felt his eyes settle on her. Then he took one long step towards her to take the shirt. In the process, he slid his fingers up her hand, all the way to her wrist where his thumb brushed across the sensitive underside—a feathery, soft touch that caused a startling pang in her belly. With what seemed like deliberate slowness, he trailed his fingers back down across her palm, taking the black fabric away. The brief contact left her whole arm peppered with goosebumps. Her eyes darted up to search his face. Had he meant to touch her like that, or had it been innocent coincidence? Oh, there was nothing innocent about the smug tilt of his mouth. Nothing at all. Her throat felt strangely tense, so she raised her hand to massage it. He glanced down below her chin to watch the movement and looked back up at her with a gleam of something like satisfaction in his gaze. He appeared to be rather pleased with himself. Madeline peeked discreetly at Hoss and Joe over by the settee, but they were back to bickering and, thankfully, hadn't paid mind to the interaction. Drawing an uneven breath, she faced Adam again with narrowed eyes. She wasn't sure how she felt about this little game of his. Though, it was one he played masterfully, she must admit. He answered her look with dimples and twinkles of amusement dancing in his eyes, which did nothing to help her predicament. Lord, the man could smile. She felt the effect of it all the way to her toes. It was a terrible shame he didn't smile like that very often. It was also a great pity she hadn't gotten to feel those quirking lips on hers last night . . .

His gaze suddenly flickered away, something behind her catching his attention. Whatever he saw over her shoulder, it had an immediate, sobering effect on him. His expression turned guarded and his mouth tightened. Madeline could guess why. Until this moment, she hadn't noticed the absence of pencil scribbling. Now, she was painfully aware of it. Fresh embarrassment filled her at the thought of her uncle watching them together like this. Next, the silly idea entered her head that _he_ might somehow be able to read her mind and know about the impure thoughts she'd been having about Adam all night. Or Heaven forbid, he might know about their little midnight encounter by her bedroom. But that notion was absurd . . . wasn't it?

Her mortification was complete when she felt the prickly sensation in her cheeks once again. _No, this really must stop_ , she chastised herself. She shook her head, squared her shoulders and tapped the shirt hanging limply in Adam's hand.

"Perhaps you would like to put that away before we sit down for breakfast?"

Ignoring her suggestion, he continued to glare over her shoulder, lifting his chin slightly as if in challenge.

"I reckon we all oughtta do that, Miss Madeline," Hoss suddenly said. His forehead was rumpled in a frown as he came over and stood next to Adam. "Smells like Hop Sing's pretty near finished with all that good food out there."

Joe was close behind him, carrying his own mended shirts. "Yea, come on." He slapped Adam on the back. "I could eat a horse, hooves and all."

Grateful for the brothers' assistance, Madeline breathed a sigh of relief when Adam finally cut off his glare. Perhaps there was hope yet of having a peaceful morning together. He gave his siblings a curt nod and followed as they led the way to the staircase. She turned and watched them, noting out of the corner of her eye that her uncle was focused on his journal now, although he wasn't writing. She waited with bated breath, hoping there wouldn't be a repeat of yesterday's confrontation on the picnic. As she'd expected, Adam went right past the blue chair without acknowledging the doctor. But just as he placed one boot on the first step of the stairs, her uncle spoke up.

"Will I be able to look at your arm today, I wonder? Or are you going to put up a fuss?" His voice was smooth and neutral and devoid of feeling.

Madeline's heart sank and the way Hoss and Joe dropped their heads halfway up the stairs implied they felt much the same.

Adam's shoulders lifted high as he removed his boot from the step. Keeping his back turned, he replied, "My arm is fine."

The doctor sat motionless for a second. Then, with neat, meticulous movements, he removed his spectacles, folded them and placed them in the pocket of his suit jacket. "I must commend you on the breadth of your vocabulary," he said dryly. " _Fine_ indeed. Your eloquence never ceases to amaze me, lad."

Adam swirled around and, seeing his irate look, Madeline intervened.

"Uncle Paul, please," she implored and waited for him to look at her. She gazed at him for a long moment, willing him to understand the plea in her eyes.

His bushy brows raised a fraction which gave him a slightly more animated expression. "Well, tell me then—what would you have me do, Madeline?" He jerked a thumb Adam's way. "How am I supposed to do my job when he's being so obstinate?"

" _I'm_ being obstinate?" Adam asked in a rising voice, moving towards the blue chair.

"Come on now, fellas," Hoss soothed as he made his way back down the creaking stairs.

Stopping by the chair, Adam glared down at the older man. "You're calling _me_ obstinate?"

The doctor tipped his head back to look up at him. "My dear boy," he drawled. "I'd say you were stubborn as a mule, except it would be an insult to mules."

Adam's nostrils flared, but at that instant, the escalating conversation was stalled when the front door suddenly swung open. Madeline briefly closed her eyes, grateful again for another interruption. Her relief, however, was short-lived. Within two seconds, she caught onto the strange shift in mood in the room and when she turned around, she saw the cause. Ben stood in the doorway, his features set in grim lines, his lips pressed to a harsh slash. He closed the door behind him and without bothering to remove his coat, he walked across the floor—the double-thump of his boots booming doomfully off the hard wood. Everyone's attention was on him when he stopped in the middle of the room and placed his hands on his hips. He focused intently on his sons and very calmly said, "We have a problem on our hands."

Madeline froze in place and a sense of unease shivered through her. Her hopes of a peaceful morning were rapidly dwindling. Instantly alert, Adam, Hoss and Joe made their way to their father, each of them tossing their newly mended shirts onto the settee as they passed her. They quickly formed a half-circle around him, tense anticipation evident in their postures. Madeline observed them uncertainly, trying to keep down her rising anxiety.

"What kind of problem?" Joe asked, his youthful impatience getting the better of him. "What's going on, Pa?"

Ben's hesitation was very brief, but long enough for him to aim a sidelong glance at Adam.

"Well," he said slowly. "As far as I can figure, about fifty head have gone missing from the North pasture. Harry says the men haven't been able to find them."

Hoss screwed his face up. "Rustlers?"

"It looks like it, son."

The tension hung thickly in the air while the men traded glances among themselves. Madeline looked over at her uncle to see his reaction and found him sitting back in his chair with his fingers steepled by his mouth and not a hint of expression upon his face. What had begun as a sense of unease within her, now grew to an inexplicable feeling of dread. She'd hear the term rustling before, of course, and was aware of what it meant. She also knew that cattle-theft was considered a very serious offense around these parts. What she didn't know, was how the Cartwrights would handle such a matter . . .

Needing to somehow relieve the strained atmosphere, she approached tentatively and squeezed herself in between Adam and Ben. She delicately cleared her throat and said, "Forgive me for sounding silly, but is it not possible that these . . . cows perhaps wandered off somewhere else to find some, well, some more pleasant . . . grass?"

The Cartwrights simultaneously turned to stare at her.

Ben coughed into a fist and while doing so, managed to execute a pointed look that struck all his three sons at once. Then he directed his attention at her, some of the tension leaving him as his mouth relaxed into a kind smile. "While that certainly does happen sometimes, dear, it doesn't seem likely to be the case in this instance." His eyes darkened. "You see, we've had men searching for those steers the last three days and they should have been found by now. What's more, Harry found some tracks."

"Tracks?" The word creaked out of her like a door that hadn't been used in a while. "What type of tracks might that be?"

"Let's just say it's the type that shouldn't be there."

 _Goodness_. She swallowed. "I see . . ."

A dead silence followed, and the tension seemed even more palpable than before.

Joe's eyes flickered from Ben to Adam and back again as he said, "Well, it sure was nice of you two to tell us we've had men looking for missing steers the last three days."

There was a bite to his tone, matching the glare in his gaze perfectly.

Ever the placater, Hoss laid a hand on his shoulder. "Simmer down there, shortshanks."

Not appeased in the slightest, Joe turned his glare onto his oldest brother. Adam only regarded him blankly in response, his expression stilling into flawless impassivity.

Clearly failing to get a reaction out of his sibling, Joe focused on their father again and flung up a hand. "What are we waiting for then? Are we riding out or what?"

Ben tugged at his chin and again, Madeline noticed how his eyes drifted to Adam's. Adam, who had yet to say anything—Adam, who stood cool and casual as if this entire conversation merely involved what was for supper. He held his father's eyes steadily and she found herself fascinated by the silent communication the two were able to share through simple eye contact. They practically seemed to be having a whole silent conversation. After apparently reaching some sort of agreement, Ben turned to his other sons with a decisive nod. "Yes. We'll meet up with Harry at the North pasture. We better get going."

Before Madeline had the chance to inquire as to what this _"riding out"_ entailed exactly, the men became a blur of movement. Joe loped to the settee and grabbed his jacket, Ben went to his desk in the alcove and Adam walked off towards the staircase with fluid, purposeful strides. She tracked his movement and it felt as though her stomach dropped to her knees when she realized he was heading to the rifle cabinet at the foot of the stairs. A glance to her right showed that Hoss and Joe were already over at the long dresser by the coats and hats, in the process of strapping on their gun belts. Watching the somewhat dramatic proceedings, she felt an _"oh dear"_ making its way up her throat and barely prevented it from getting out. It would hardly help matters. Instead, she took to twisting her fingers together in a futile attempt to calm herself. In the middle of all the commotion, Hop Sing came bustling out of the kitchen and entered the dining room, carrying trays laden with bacon and eggs. He froze and took in the scene. "What happen?"

Hoss paused with his gun-belt and eyed the food regretfully. "We're ridin' out to look for some missin' steers, Hop Sing. You best pack plenty of that crispy bacon. And plenty of them biscuits too. And don't forget to butter 'em real good now, ya hear?"

Hop Sing was already on his way back to the kitchen. "I be quick."

Struggling to keep up with everything, Madeline stood by the settee to stay out of the way. She vaguely heard Ben call Hoss and Joe over to his desk, but her attention was locked on Adam when he came back across the room carrying some rifles. He leaned them against the wall by the front door, then moved to the long dresser and opened the top drawer. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs as she hoisted up her skirts and minced over to him. Standing at his right side, she observed while he pulled out a revolver and a small leather-bound box and laid them on the top of the dresser. The box was adorned with a brass US plate and he opened it, revealing it had four small compartments, all of which were neatly stored with different types of cartridges. It must have been a cartridge box he'd had with him during the war. Picking up the revolver, he opened the cylinder, checked it and began loading it.

Watching his hands move with practiced efficiency, she spoke in a quiet voice so as not to disturb him. "I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood something. I was under the impression they were going out to look for these missing cattle, but all this . . ." She gestured to the ammunition with a wobbly smile. "This . . . why, it looks almost as if there's going to be some sort of battle!"

A nervous chuckle escaped her.

"It's best to be prepared, honey," Adam replied distractedly. He thumbed a cartridge into the last empty chamber and snapped the cylinder closed.

Madeline nearly flinched at the sound. _Prepared?_ Well, she certainly didn't claim to be an expert on the matter but riding out to look for cows with these amounts of weaponry seemed rather excessive to her. She was about to make that fine point when he suddenly grabbed his own gun belt from the dresser and swung it around his hips. Her heart gave a lurch and she sucked in a quick breath.

"You are not going with them, surely?" she said, trying and failing spectacularly at keeping the tremor out of her voice.

Adam frowned at her while buckling his belt. "Of course I am."

She stared at him. Of course he was. _Really, Madeline_. What on earth had she expected? That he was simply gathering ammunition and guns for his family to take with them like Hop Sing was packing lunches for everyone? Her legs felt alarmingly weak under her.

"But, but," she sputtered and motioned pitifully to his bandaged arm. "But your arm . . ."

Closing his eyes, Adam expelled a huge breath. "All right, listen here," he said loudly and easily looked over the top of her head, evidently deciding to address the entire room. "My arm is _fine._ There's nothing wrong with it and I don't want to hear one more word about it." His voice lowered and took on a black note of warning. "Is that understood?"

The ensuing silence signaled that, yes, it was indeed understood. His gaze dwelled darkly on some point behind Madeline before he returned to his preparations and his brows stayed pinched in lingering irritation as he began filling the empty loops in his belt with fresh cartridges. Madeline pressed her lips together at his little intimidation act. _No_ , she certainly didn't understand.

"Adam," she said, going for firmness this time, "please be reasonable, you cannot—"

She broke off when his head came up. The grim resolve shining in his eyes sent a pang of alarm soaring through her. He stared at her long enough that she received his message loud and clear, and silently returned to his task. She knew he wasn't going to listen to her. The stubborn man. It appeared her uncle's earlier assessment of his obstinacy hadn't been entirely inaccurate.

With a huff of distress, Madeline shifted around and gazed directly at her uncle in despair. He was deep in his own thoughts but the second he caught her eye, he quickly lifted himself out of his chair. He harrumphed and held up a pointed finger. "Ahem. I want to make it clear that I firmly disapprove of this."

Adam didn't even acknowledge him. Nor did any of the other Cartwrights as they brushed passed Madeline and began donning their coats and hats.

" _Firmly_ disapprove," the doctor repeated, shaking his head adamantly.

The men continued getting ready as if he hadn't even spoken. He looked back at Madeline, shrugged and folded his hands behind his back. She made a distraught noise and looked on, helplessly.

Joe set his hat firmly on his head and bent down to pick up the rifles. "I'll start getting the horses ready." He opened the front door, letting a gust of cool air enter the house as he disappeared outside.

Feeling a sudden chill, Madeline wrapped her arms around herself, but the gesture gave her little comfort. She was still watching Adam when a hand settled on her shoulder.

"I hope you'll make yourself at home while we're gone," Ben said kindly as she faced him. His gaze slid briefly in Adam's direction and returned to her. A faint, secret smile touched his lips—a smile that managed to convey understanding, affection and reassurance all at once, in the short time it was there. Squeezing her shoulder, he leaned down to her ear. "We'll be back before you know it."

She tried to smile back but it didn't feel all that convincing.

Straightening, Ben nodded over at her uncle. "Sorry for running out on you like this, Paul."

"Don't concern yourself Ben, we'll find ways of occupying ourselves," her uncle replied breezily. Raising his voice a little, he added, "We need to do some packing anyway, seeing as we'll be leaving tomorrow."

Adam was reaching for his jacket when that last sentence fell, and Madeline stood close enough to him to see his whole body go still. A sharp pain squeezed her heart. This wasn't how this was supposed to be. Any of it. She had intended to talk to him privately today and explain to him that she was leaving tomorrow and why. She'd wanted to make the most of their last day together.

He pulled his jacket from the hook and shrugged it on with wooden movements—his jaw clenching as he maneuvered his bad arm through the sleeve.

"Adam," she said softly and reached for his hand, but he sidestepped her, avoiding her eyes.

"I'll see you later," he muttered, grabbing his hat.

And just like that, he stalked out the front door without a backward glance at her. She moved to the doorway and hesitated, a painful lump forming in her throat as she watched him cross the yard. Sensing a substantial presence beside her, she instantly knew who it was. Glancing sideways, she saw Hoss's usually gentle countenance was marred by a disapproving frown as his sky-blue eyes bore into Adam's back. With a heavy sigh, Ben put on his hat and gave her shoulder another little squeeze before following his youngest and oldest sons. Hoss, however, hung back.

"Don't you fret now, Ma'am," he said, taking her hand and patting it. "We'll keep a real good eye on 'im. I promise ya."

She nodded and produced what must have been a very tremulous smile. With a last sympathetic glance, he let go of her hand, put on his hat and followed his family.

Madeline remained in the doorway for several minutes until the Cartwrights came out of the barn with their horses. Watching from the front porch, she kept hoping that Adam would at least look her way. But he didn't. He kept his hat low and his head bent as he mounted up and settled himself in the saddle. Ben gave a wave in farewell and within seconds, the men had spurred their horses and ridden away. The yard, which had been filled with sound just a moment ago, was now engulfed in silence. A silence, broken only by a deep, unsteady beat—the sound of her own heart. Madeline closed her eyes. Listened and breathed deeply. Then she opened them again, turned and walked back into the house. She hoped that Ben's parting words to her would prove true.

xXXx


	45. Chapter 45

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Guys!_ _It was incredibly uplifting for me to read the reviews this morning. Thank you all very much. It's good to be back and I'm so grateful for your warm response, your patience and continued support :) You've put a massive smile on my face today._

 _I love writing from Madeline's point of view and it was fun to explore her reaction to seeing a new side of Adam. She still has a lot to learn about the Cartwrights' way of life. (Especially if she is to become a rancher's wife...? ;)_

 _All right, brotherly chapter coming up now! I hope you all enjoy this and I'll get the next one up as soon as I can._

 _Thank you again._

* * *

 **Chapter 45**

"Dadgummit . . . it's gonna be a real toad-strangler this, shortshanks."

At the words, Joe tipped his head back and squinted upward. Hoss was right. Since they'd ridden out in the morning, the day had grown rapidly dark and dreary. It would be impossible to tell what time it was by looking at the sky now because all remaining traces of sunlight had been buried in gloomy grey. Heavy clouds, the color of lead, swarmed overhead like some strange kind of invasion force sent from the heavens. Yeah, it was gonna rain all right. And they'd probably all end up soaked to the bone long before they made it home.

Joe glanced over at his big brother riding next to him. "Yea, I think you're right."

"I know I'm right, dadburnit." Hoss held onto his hat to keep it from toppling off as he eyed the menacing clouds with mistrust. "Shouldda brought our slickers along . . ."

"We should have," he agreed, "but the sky seemed clear enough when we left." Absently, he reached around to the back of his neck and tried to smooth down the hair starting to curl up under his hat. He hated rainy weather. His hair would be a right sight by the time they got home. "I don't think Pa planned on us being out this long either," he muttered sourly.

"That's for dang sure he didn't. Shouldda brought more food along too . . ."

Joe's arm froze, his hand going still on his neck. "You just finished your last biscuit barely half an hour ago. I even gave you one of mine."

He twisted his head and stared incredulously at Hoss.

"I know, but we're more'n two hours ride from the house and we ain't even started to head back yet." The big man shuddered. "It's plain disturbin' to think about what sorta condition I'll be in at that time . . ."

Shaking his head, Joe couldn't prevent a small smile from forming. "Boy, your appetite has doubled lately. Must be all those extra cakes Madeline's been making."

"I cain't hardly help that we got the best baker in the state livin' with us, now kin I?"

"I guess not."

Joe turned his attention back to the climbing path ahead. The trail they were currently on was rough and rocky and surrounded by trees and boulders on both sides. They'd ridden this way many times before and he knew that once they got over this next rise, they would soon hit more level ground. And _thank God_ for that. All day, they'd been winding their way sideways, up or down along the slopes. It felt like his rear end was about to fall off. Shifting in the saddle, he urged Cochise on and directed his gaze down at the ground.

They'd been traveling through the high country for hours, following the trail of the missing cattle. The tracks that Harry had found near the north pasture showed the animals had headed up into the mountains—but not without help. Although the tracks were a few days old and in poor condition, the eagle-eyed foreman had spotted the hoof prints of two shod horses among the prints left behind by the cattle. If there had been any doubt in Joe's mind before, there was none now. It was definitely rustlers at work. Unfortunately, his hopes of finding the thieves were waning. The shifting terrain in this country made tracking a slow and arduous task. In many places, the thick brush and heavy pine forest had made the going tough and they could barely see more than a few feet ahead of themselves. In other areas, they'd encountered wide expanses of bare rock where the trail vanished completely. It was difficult and time-consuming to pick it up again. Twice now, they'd also lost the trail where the rustlers had crossed two creeks and ridden upstream in a deliberate attempt to throw any pursuers off-track. The slow progress was grating on Joe's nerves, and he felt his impatience mounting. He also hadn't quite let go of his annoyance with his father and Adam. The two had obviously known about the missing cattle and decided to keep it to themselves, which didn't sit well with him. It didn't sit well with him at all. If it had been up to him, they would have been out looking for those steers the very minute they'd disappeared.

He glanced upward, seeing the top of the incline looming. As they crested the top, Cochise emitted a loud snort and tossed his head. Joe reined up and tugged the collar of his green jacket a little higher as a harsh gust of wind swept him. Not for the first time today, he felt grateful for the fact he'd decided to wear an undershirt. It was much cooler and windier up here compared to lower down in the mountains. Despite the cold and the rough terrain, it was well worth the ride. The raw, untamed beauty of the high Sierras was enough to take a man's breath away. He gave Cochise a pat on the neck to settle the animal as Hoss drew up next to him.

"Little Branch Valley . . . that sight sure don't get old, does it?"

It sure didn't. Stretched out before them, at the foot of the rise, was a long valley they knew as Little Branch Valley—one of Joe's favorite places in this area. More a canyon than a valley, Little Branch Valley was nestled between towering, pine-covered mountain slopes on both sides. It had a twisting river running along the bottom, which was partially obscured by ribbons of delicate mist hanging over the water. In the unnatural darkness of the afternoon, the valley had an eerie stillness to it. It was hauntingly beautiful, but still, eerie.

Joe pulled his hat lower down his forehead and looked off to the right. About twenty yards away, their pa had dismounted and stood studying the ground. Next to him, Harry sat on his pony and even while mounted, the old foreman was barely a head higher than his boss. They were talking quietly, probably discussing possible places the rustlers might have gone. Despite being in his late sixties, the foreman handled himself as well atop a horse as any of the young cowhands employed at the ranch. He was a plump little man with shoulders permanently hunched up to his ears, and on his head sat the remains of the floppy-brimmed, mangled hat he'd worn ever since Joe could remember. Harry had been with them for almost as long as Hop Sing and he was one of the closest, most trusted friends of the family. Although he had a definite mean streak in him, which especially surfaced whenever they took on new hands, he'd always fulfilled his duties with unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Ponderosa. Joe had heard his pa say many times that Harry loved the land here like it was his own. There was no doubt it was true. Observing him now, it was clear the foreman was in his element. Sitting atop his horse, gazing out across the land—he looked kind of like an old bullfrog squatting contentedly on a rock, overlooking his pond . . .

Joe was torn from his thoughts when his pa moved to mount his horse again and gave a slight wave, indicating they were going down into the valley. He nodded back in confirmation, and he and Hoss followed. They descended the gentle slope covered in green foliage and saw numerous game trails along the way, running up and down from the top of the rise down into the valley. Once they reached the valley floor, the underbrush thinned, making the rustler's tracks easier to follow. They stuck to the right side of the bubbling river and kept the horses at a slow walk to let them cool down and relax after the long climb uphill.

After a few minutes' ride, Hoss grunted in frustration. "Once that rain start's comin' down, them tracks are gonna be clean washed away."

Joe turned to him and saw his eyes were directed towards the ground and his brow was puckered.

"Yea, I thought about it too," he replied, glancing up at the sky. "And I don't see how we're gonna have any hope of finding the rustlers without a trail to follow. There's about a hundred places they could be hiding out around here. Plenty of high meadows to choose from beyond the valley."

Jerking his chin down in a nod, Hoss grunted again. Suddenly, he shook his head. "I don't git it."

Joe faced him. "What don't you get?"

"Why they're headin' all the way up here in the first place. 'Specially with the cold weather commin' . . ." Pausing, he frowned as if in deep thought. "Now, if _I_ was a rustler . . ." He lifted a large left hand, and using his right forefinger, he began ticking off points of his approach. "I wudda headed up into the mountains with the cattle a little ways to make it hard to track me." He ticked off a second finger. "Then I wudda warmed up my runnin' iron someplace real quiet-like up in the hills where no one would disturb me." He bumped a third finger. "Then I wudda cut east and found a place to loop back around . . . probably wudda gone through Three Snakes Canyon and headed back down into the foothills. And you'd all be left up here on a wild goose chase tryin' to find me."

He finished by making a wide swinging motion with his arm. There was a long pause between them. With a wry smile, Joe finally asked, "Something you wanna tell me, brother?"

Hoss looked over at him with a confused expression. Then he firmed his chin. "I'm talkin' hypothetical-like, dang it."

"Oh, sure."

Joe reined in his smile and sobered. Hoss sort of had a point.

"Maybe they're already on the run from the law and they've come up here to lay low for a while," he suggested.

Hoss's face scrunched up. "Cattle-rustling ain't exactly a good way of layin' low."

"Maybe they got greedy." Joe thought for a moment. "Pa said the steers have been disappearing from the north section over the last two weeks, so they've been stealing a few head at a time to avoid rousing suspicion. They might've taken some from other herds too. Maybe they've got a camp up here somewhere and they're sticking around because they plan to gather a bigger herd they can drive away and sell somewhere."

"Rustlers don't usually like to stay in one place for too long," Hoss pointed out. "If that's their plan, seems like a fool one to me."

"I didn't say they were smart. They're rustlers."

"I don't know," Hoss said in a wary tone. "Somethin' just don't feel right about this . . ."

With a troubled look on his face, he concentrated on the trail again. Joe didn't comment further. There was nothing more he could say. Understanding the rustlers wasn't really his priority. He just wanted to find them and bring them to justice. But one thing was certain—heavy rain would wash the tracks away. And when that happened, the odds of finding the rustlers would be slim to none. It would take skill and a whole lot of luck. And patience. Joe didn't do patience very well . . .

He shifted restlessly in the saddle. In an attempt to divert himself, he tried to relax and take in his surroundings.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a lungful of crisp, mountain air. The thick scent of rain surrounded him, mingled with a trace of tangy pine. _The smell of loneliness,_ he remembered _._ Adam had described that scent once, many years ago. Joe opened his eyes again and glanced at both sides of himself. Over on the west side of the river, the pine-decked mountain slopes soared, sheltering them from harsh winds. To his right, a wall of granite sheer cliff rose sharply, almost perpendicularly in some places. Riding through this valley always made him feel very small. In the distance ahead, more mountains rose up in a series of steep slopes—their snowy peaks hidden by the low-hanging cloud deck above. At this height, the dark-grey sky felt even more oppressive. Showers were imminent. He was already dreading having to ride home drenched. Although, he would much rather push through it and sleep in his own bed tonight than seek shelter in some distant line shack . . .

At least now, they were travelling on level ground and he was very grateful for that. Wincing a bit, he stood up in the stirrups and resettled himself in the saddle. While he loved the savage beauty of the wilderness up here, _getting_ here hadn't exactly been a picnic today. The rugged trail upward had been harder on his rear end than usual. Tonight, he would no doubt be paying the price for being out of the saddle for a whole week. Heck, he was already paying it. The short ride to and from Hoss Heaven yesterday had been a breeze compared to this . . .

He reached around and rubbed his lower back to provide a small measure of relief.

As if reading his thoughts, Hoss said, "Thunder it, these high-country trails are flat-out torture!" He grimaced and shifted his weight to the sound of creaking saddle leather. "I won't hardly be able to sit down for supper."

Joe smiled at that. "I'll bet you five dollars, you'll find a way."

"That's one bet I ain't gonna take," he replied, and Joe was pleased to see him flash one of his gap-toothed grins.

"Meanwhile, older brother back there" —Hoss jerked a chunky thumb backward— "I ain't seen him move even a hair's breadth in that saddle. And he's been off a horse longer than you and me." He glanced back over his shoulder with a disgruntled look. "Seems it ain't just his head that's made out of granite . . ."

A burst of laughter bubbled up Joe's throat and spilled over. He couldn't help it. Up ahead, his pa turned in the saddle with a disapproving expression and Joe snatched a hand up and covered his mouth to stifle himself. His hilarity had barely died down when Hoss spoke again, still sounding irritated.

"You know what else ol' Adam's got? A face to match this here weather—that's what. Jist look at 'im." He jerked his big chin over his shoulder. "He looks like he's got his own little thundercloud hangin' right over his head."

Joe inhaled unsteadily to quash the last spasms of laughter and looked backward at their sibling riding about twenty feet behind them. Most of Adam's face was shadowed under the brim of his black hat but he did have sort of a thunder-cloud-look about him . . .

"You know how he is," Joe said, facing ahead again. "Adam's just being . . ." He shrugged. "Adam."

"He is at that."

The brothers fell quiet as they continued along the river. Thin wisps of mist clung to the scarce trees along the bank. There would be complete silence around them if not for the soothing sound of water flowing over rocks—a sound Joe had loved since he was a child.

"Did ya know Miss Madeline and the Doc are leavin' tomorrow?" Hoss suddenly asked.

The question made Joe face him in surprise. No, he hadn't known that.

"So, that's why he's being so moody, huh?" He rolled his eyes and corrected himself. "Or more moody than usual . . ."

Obvious frustration twisted his big brother's expression. "That'll be my guess."

"Well, she was gonna leave eventually. He knew that. We all did."

"Yeah, we sure did," Hoss replied, looking down. "I reckon he's just havin' a hard time with her goin'." His voice went soft as if he wasn't sure about saying the next bit. "You know how he seems to . . . feel better when she's around 'n all . . ."

Joe studied him from the side for five long seconds. "Don't you think it's about time he starts to feel better when she's not?"

He hadn't meant for his voice to sound so harsh. Or, at least, he told himself he hadn't. Hoss's head jerked up and their eyes met—wary blue against flashing green.

It was Hoss who looked away first. "I don't know, Joe . . ."

Sudden tension had clamped around his shoulders and Joe had to make a conscious effort to relax himself. He expelled a long breath and forced out a friendlier tone. "Look . . . he's still got us, right? I mean . . . _we're_ the reason he came home in the first place. It was to be with us." He looked at his brother. "Right?"

Hoss hesitated before replying. "Yea . . . I reckon that's right."

"So . . ." Joe lowered his eyes and fought the urge to fidget with the reins in his hands. "We can help him feel better too, you know. You, me and Pa."

Mentally, he cursed himself for the uncertainty tingeing his own voice. He'd meant his statement to come out as firm assurance, bursting with confidence. Instead, it came out more as a wavering question that held a note of impending defeat in it. Hoss kept his face averted and this time, Joe didn't expect a response. He knew what his brother was thinking. What they were both thinking at that instant. They knew how unstable and depressed Adam had been since coming back from the war and how much his relationship with Madeline had helped him. They'd seen how bad off he'd been without her just over a week ago—desolate and drinking to excess, withdrawn from everyone, even them. And although they'd tried the best they could, they _hadn't_ been able to make him feel better then . . .

Joe straightened his back and banished the painful memory. He peeked behind him to make sure his oldest brother wasn't in earshot, then gazed fixedly at Hoss.

"Listen, I know that being away from Madeline was hard on him and that whole thing with her looney husband set him back a bit, but before all that, he was doing pretty well." He infused his words with confidence to repair the previous damage and continued, "He was settling in more and more. And we did some fun stuff together, the three of us, didn't we?" he prompted. "Just like we used to before he went to war."

Again, Hoss wavered. Then he released a sigh. "Yeah, we did . . ." His mouth quirked the tiniest bit. "It was real nice goin' fishin' all of us together again . . ."

"Exactly!" Joe snapped his fingers with a bright smile. "See, we've just gotta help him get back to all that again and he'll start to feel better. And even though Madeline is leaving, he'll keep courting her and go and see her in town all the time. My guess is he'll marry her before the year is out and then he'll be settling down for good."

Hoss's face contorted in disbelief. "Have you been munchin' on loco weed or somethin'? There ain't a snowball's chance in hell that the Doc will let him marry her that soon. They're getting' married next spring at the earliest."

With a gleam in his eyes, Joe rested an elbow on his thigh and leaned in his big brother's direction. "You wanna bet . . .?"

Hoss lifted his chin. "Twenty dollars."

"It's a deal."

Their eyes locked, they shook hands on it. Joe leaned back in the saddle with a sly smile. "Anyway," he said, "we'll just have to put up with Adam being moody and brooding until he's . . . you know, back to being plain old, bossy and annoying Adam."

His mouth turned down in a grimace, Hoss risked another glimpse over his shoulder. "I guess . . ."

"Come on, lighten up, you big moose." Joe reached over to slap him on the back. "I tell you what, I'll go see what I can do about old cranky-pants back there," he said, pointing behind them.

"Ya best not call him that," Hoss cautioned. "He's liable to have thunderbolts comin' out his dang ears."

Joe grinned. "Now, I wouldn't mind seeing that."

With a confident wink, Joe tipped his hat, reined up and turned his mount around. Hoss rode on alone, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.

xXXx

Joe rode back along the river towards Adam at a light trot and Cochise, seeing Sport, halted and turned by himself, sidling up next to his stable-buddy. The big chestnut twisted his head and grunted what seemed to be a delighted greeting in horse. Old Sport was well-mannered deep down, at least when he wanted to be. That was more than could be said for his master. Adam sat motionless in the saddle, looking straight ahead, his face a dispassionate mask. He rode on as though Joe's sudden presence at his side was no more noteworthy than that of a fly. Joe knew better than to wait for his older brother to acknowledge him. He would be waiting until they were both old men. Which, in Adam's case, wouldn't be all that long . . . He chuckled inwardly at his little joke.

Aiming for a light tone, he glanced up at the grey sky and said, "Hoss reckons we're in for a toad-strangler."

Adam slanted a lazy, sideways look at him that lingered. Without uttering a sound, he returned his sight to the trail. Joe was very familiar with that look. It had been a big part of his childhood. It was the look he'd received whenever he would walk into Adam's room and older brother wanted to convey to him how unwelcome he was. It had about as much effect on him now as it had then.

"I heard the Doc and Madeline are leaving tomorrow."

He regarded his sibling expectantly. Adam's face remained blank and dispassionate, giving not the slightest indication as to how he felt about the matter.

"I guess you'll miss having her here . . ." Joe pressed.

Nothing.

"But not so much the Doc, huh?" he drove on, pushing past the first pricks of irritation. Sometimes his sibling needed a little pokin' and prodding.

Taking a long, exaggerated breath, Adam twisted towards him. "What do you want, Joe?"

Joe stared at him. Yep, sometimes older brother needed a little proddin'. Other times, he needed a good, hard kick up the—

"Just making conversation," Joe said with a strained smile, interrupting his own thoughts.

In stony silence, Adam turned away to survey the scenery. Joe's hand fisted tightly around the reins. And there it was, those sharp pricks of irritation became the first stirrings of anger. Oh, it never took long with Adam, did it . . .

Joe's eyes bore into him. No one on the face of the earth could get under his skin as effectively and with as apparent ease as his oldest brother. It was as if he'd studied the art of being annoying. He'd probably excelled at it too, just like he did at everything else in life. Biting the inside of his cheek, Joe managed to hold onto his temper, which was pretty impressive, for him.

"At least you can still visit her in town whenever you want," he mumbled.

He received a low hum in response. It wasn't much, but this was Adam, after all. He would take what he could get.

They rode in uncomfortable silence for a little bit. Well, to Joe it felt uncomfortable. If Adam felt the same way, he didn't let on. Joe looked over at him repeatedly, searching for any sign that he was warming up. But high on his list of irritating traits, Adam had the aggravating, albeit impressive ability to keep his expression completely unreadable. With his eyes hooded and a substantial growth of dark beard covering most of his face, it was pretty much impossible to discern any thought or feeling from the guy. There was higher chance of Hoss spontaneously taking flight.

When it became apparent that his brother was in fact bullheaded enough to ride on for the next hour without initiating conversation, Joe decided to take another stab at it.

"It's gonna be kind of strange not having her and Doc living with us anymore . . ." He hesitated and peered discreetly Adam's way. "I suppose you'll have some time on your hands when they leave . . ."

He got another hum, this time with an accompanying nod. And then—holy cow— _words_!

"Yeah, I guess so."

Joe felt a flash of hope inside, and carefully controlled it. He needed to keep this cool. "Well, then maybe you'll have more time to . . . do things." He gestured airily. "I mean, you know . . . _we_ can do things."

Adam let out a disparaging snort. "Like _what_?"

Those two words hit Joe with all the force of a sledgehammer. They struck with ruthless precision, right in the middle of his chest. That derisive tone rang in his ears. Then came the pain, an ache spreading through his upper body, much more powerful than his flare of temper. Tightening his jaw, fighting to keep his unexpected reaction hidden, he clutched the reins in his hands so hard his knuckles turned white.

When he failed to answer, he sensed Adam's eyes fall on him. "What things?" he asked again.

Joe made the mistake of turning to him. Their gazes connected and the silent stare they shared seemed to last minutes. A strange look fell over Adam's face—a look Joe couldn't work out. His whole demeanor changed then. The scorn faded from his hazel eyes as something else took over, something peculiarly soft. He opened his mouth to speak, but Joe jerked his face away before he could and said, "Just forget it, Adam."

Desperate to get away all of a sudden, he drummed his heels in Cochise's sides and the horse took off.

"Joe, wait . . ."

He didn't. Trust Adam to make him feel like a stupid little kid. What was it about him anyway? How did he do that? _Why_ did he have to be like that? The questions whirled around his mind as he spurred Cochise to a canter. He heard Sport coming up behind them and it wasn't long before Adam caught up.

"Joe," he called, but Joe ignored him. What was it with him? One minute the guy treated him like he was made out of thin air—the next he was chasing him through a valley.

Sensing his brother come up right next to him, Joe was about to urge Cochise to go faster when Adam reached over and grabbed hold of his reins like he owned them or something. "I said _wait_ , damn it," he muttered and slowed both snorting horses to a stop. Fuming, Joe went along with it, only because he didn't want to confuse his mount more than necessary.

Adam blew out a lot of breath. "Now . . . what things did you mean?"

"Just leave it, Adam!" Joe snapped, shoving his hand away, violently. "It doesn't matter, all right? I know you don't remember anyway so there's no point in talking about it!"

Adam's hand stayed in the air after being shoved and Joe felt a surge of satisfaction at the confusion flickering over his features. In the following pause, an uncharacteristic bout of uncertainty fell over his usually self-assured brother.

"I . . . what did I forget?" he finally asked.

Joe chewed the inside of his cheek, debating whether to tell him or not. Unfortunately, the five-year-old kid still residing somewhere within him made the decision when he blurted out, "You were gonna teach me about sharpshooting, remember? We were supposed to start practicing that weekend after fixing the east fence-line, that's what you said. Then everything happened with Madeline and I know you had a hard time with all that and you had a lot of things on your mind and you forgot about our plans but—" He broke off, his heart pounding with anger and hurt, his stormy emotions twisting his voice to a higher pitch. "But we were supposed to do that together. You p—"

He caught himself just in time and swallowed the word _promised_. It still left a sour taste in his mouth as an old bitterness crept up in him at the thought of Adam and his promises. Already Joe regretted the outburst. He felt his ears begin to redden, especially when he noted Adam's meager reaction of merely raised brows. He bowed his head to escape it. _Damn it all!_ He hated how this always happened with Adam! He somehow always managed to sound like a stupid child begging his brother to spend time with him.

The silence grew suffocating as he waited for Adam to say something. Of course, he didn't. Adam just dropped his gaze and glanced off to the right. In turn, Joe looked off to the left. They sat like that atop their impatient horses for a minute. Eventually, Adam cleared his throat.

"Well . . . do you still want me to teach you?" he asked in a deceptively casual voice, although for a second there, Joe thought he heard an undertone of something else. Something very unlike Adam.

He couldn't resist sliding him a furtive peek. Sure, he wanted Adam to teach him. But what he _really_ wanted was for Adam to _want_ to teach him. He just didn't know how to go about explaining that without sounding silly. He responded with what was supposed to be an indifferent shrug. It didn't feel nearly as smooth as older brother always managed to make it look.

"You're already better than average with a rifle," Adam said slowly. "You're still young. If you start practicing now you could be a great marksman . . ."

 _As good as you?_ Joe wanted to ask, but that sounded a little too childish in his own head.

"You really think so?" he asked quietly instead.

"Of course." Adam's answer came quickly, with certainty. "I've trained recruits who knew less than you do now . . ." He paused. "You have great potential, Joe . . ."

This was another thing Joe hated. He could tell himself over and over for years that he didn't need Adam for anything—that he didn't need his respect or approval. And still, his brother could swoop in with a simple sentence like the one he'd just said—four small words—and make Joe feel ten feet tall and like he could conquer the West.

 _You have great potential . . ._

Hesitantly, Joe shifted his gaze to him and found him looking off into the distance, a shade of melancholy spread over his face. It was that expression Adam had whenever he was looking into the past. A past Joe had no part of and knew very little of. His heart clenched and he was overcome with the need to drag his big brother back to the present, back to _him_ and back to their deal.

"All right, on one condition," he said sharply.

Adam faced him, blinking his eyes three times to clear them. "What's that?"

Despite the turmoil within him, Joe's tone was firm as he said, "I want my _brother_ to teach me. Not Captain Cartwright."

That seemed to give Adam pause. Tilting his head to one side, he gave Joe a long, considering look. Joe tried not to squirm. Adam had that odd way of looking at someone that made a guy feel like he could see straight into their head. Or their heart. Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, his brother smiled, an almost puckish smile. An Adam-smile Joe hadn't seen since before the war.

"I'll try to remember that," he said.

Slowly, Joe's own mouth turned up. A sense of relief fell over him. He gave a faint nod. Adam scratched his neck with a forefinger, then pointed up the valley. "We better get moving before the others leave us behind and hunt down the rustlers by themselves."

"Right."

No doubt in agreement, Cochise and Sport snorted and stepped impatiently as if exasperated with their respective humans. Both at the same time, Joe and Adam heeled the horses and they took off at a canter. As they flew up the valley, Joe felt his heart lifting. Riding through the wilderness, chasing cattle-thieves alongside his oldest brother who was back where he belonged—the joy of it filled his chest like it might burst out.

Over the pounding of hooves, Adam called to him. "By the way, what was that bet you made with Hoss before?"

Keeping his eyes ahead, Joe smiled and called back, "I'll tell you when I win it."

xXXx


	46. Chapter 46

_**Author's Notes**_

 _Guys! Thank you so much for so many and such wonderful reviews :) It was incredibly encouraging for me to read your response and I'm going to really try to keep up the pace with updates._

 _I love writing the brotherly scenes as much as you seem to enjoy reading them, so here's another brotherly chapter coming your way. We're continuing the hunt for the rustlers. I hope you enjoy it and have a great start to the week._

 _Also, I know that most of you, dear readers, are from the US, and I just wanted to say that I was very sad to hear about what's been happening over the weekend. God bless and stay safe._

* * *

 **Chapter 46**

They were about halfway through Little Branch valley when they lost the trail of the rustlers. It disappeared into the river and did not emerge on the opposite side. Joe grew frustrated again because he knew that every minute they wasted looking around for tracks, they weren't getting any closer to their quarry. They split up and rode in pairs upstream and downstream while searching both sides of the river. But after half an hour, they still hadn't found anything. The grass covering the bottom of the valley had given way to stretches of flat rock along both riverbanks and hoof prints were hard to spot, even with Harry's trained eyes. It would have been a big setback for them, had they not been so familiar with Little Branch Valley. Fortunately, they knew of a few gaps in the rock-face on the eastern side of the valley that led to trails climbing out of the canyon. They also knew that in order to get to the high meadows beyond Little Branch, the rustlers would have needed to take one of those trails. The slopes at the far end of the valley were too steep to drive cattle up.

Although they would probably have picked the tracks up again eventually if they scoured along the river long enough, Ben made the decision to take a gamble. If it paid off, it would save them time. So, they abandoned their tracking by the river and focused instead on the right side of the valley and the towering cliff-face. They looked for breaks and clefts in the grey rock and it wasn't long before Harry found the opening they'd named Boulder's Passage; a cleft in the rock-wall, partially obscured by a single large boulder. And sure enough, the rustler's tracks appeared just inside the passage. The path up-slope was narrow but gentle enough for cattle to climb. They rode up the incline and reached the rim of the valley. From there, the tracks took them through a section of scattered pine forest as they neared the area at the top of the range where the high meadows were. They crossed a mountain stream and stopped briefly to study the prints of a mountain lion there. After that, they stuck close together and kept an even sharper eye on their surroundings. The terrain became rockier, covered in sagebrush and with scattered junipers, firs and grey boulders all around. When they came to an area with flat shelving rock, Joe suspected they would run into trouble. He was proven right. They lost the trail and this time, they were unable to pick it up again. They circled around, retraced their steps and worked their way in and around the thick brush. Scrutinizing the hard ground, they kept returning to the last identifiable prints and went off in new directions several times. But the trail was gone.

xXXx

Joe ran a hand down his face. All the riding around back and forth was starting to tire him out. He saw his own weariness reflected in the other's faces as they sat atop their horses in a little circle around the last visible set of hoof prints.

Harry swore under his breath. "They musta crossed over the bare rock and headed up into one of them high meadows," he said in his usual gruff manner.

"But which one?" Hoss asked, massaging the back of his neck. "There's a whole lot of places they coulda gone."

The frustration they were all feeling was palpable as they became quiet, considering their options.

A thought struck Joe. "What about that meadow where we found a group of strays during roundup last year?" He looked at Hoss. "Remember that?"

Hoss's brow crinkled. "Yeah . . ." His face brightened and he gave a series of eager nods. "I sure do. It's about a quarter of a mile from here, I reckon." He pointed eastward. "It's over thataway, over the rise and through a portion of pine forest."

"Let's go and take a look there then," their pa said. "If we don't find anything, we'll start heading back. At least we've followed the trail this far." He gazed reproachfully up at the looming, dark-grey clouds above. "Let's hurry it up."

As Hoss turned his horse and led the way, Joe hoped their luck was about to change. Although he agreed with his father on calling off the search for the day, he didn't like the thought of riding home empty-handed. And he had an odd feeling they were getting close to finding something.

They climbed the small rise and entered the forest Hoss had mentioned and here, the trees stood thick and tall, the path winding between their large trunks. Joe rode at the back next to Adam and noticed he hadn't said anything in a long time. Quiet wasn't exactly unusual for his oldest sibling, but there was an odd sort of stillness about him. Curious, Joe began to watch him from the side. At first glance, Adam seemed at ease in the saddle as always, holding himself in that characteristic, casual manner he did whenever he was on a horse. His face was neutral as well, giving nothing away. But as Joe studied him more carefully, he noticed something off. Only someone who knew Adam extremely well—like his brother—would have caught onto it. There was an underlying tension emanating from him, betraying that air of competent calm. When Joe focused on his eyes, shadowed under the brim of his hat, he noted something brightly intense in them—like a watchful light. They were in almost constant movement, flickering over the woods around them. Joe felt the little hairs at the back of his neck stand up. He recognized Adam's vigilance—he'd seen that look in his eyes many times when they'd hunted dangerous predators. And still, although he recognized that his brother was on guard, Adam's bearing was slightly different to that of the brother Joe had gone hunting with years ago. It was hard to pinpoint what that difference was. As Joe considered it, a very strange notion came over him. Whatever it was that seemed different about the way Adam carried himself now, he must have picked it up during the war. It was as if he was a solider on guard now, not a cowboy. Joe pulled himself free of those distracting thoughts. Drawing his eyes away from Adam, he concentrated on the woods surrounding them again, more alert now than he had been so far.

After a few minutes' ride, they came across a trail that veered off to the left and went upward. An idea in mind, Joe reined up to get the attention of the others. "Adam and I could take the high trail, Pa" he said, motioning with a hand. "We'll be able to get a good view of the whole meadow from the ridge."

His father turned in the saddle with a somewhat distracted look. Once he'd processed the words, he nodded. "All right, we'll meet you there."

Joe felt a little spark of pride at his pa's accepting his suggestion. Adam didn't comment but dutifully followed as Joe took the lead and went up the trail. The path narrowed to a tunnel and it was so overgrown, they had to ride single file. As the slope steepened, they leaned forwards in their saddles while the horses cut through the brush. Puffs of steam-like breath burst from the horses' nostrils and floated whitely in the thin air. By the time the thick foliage opened up, both mounts were breathing heavily as they came out at the top of the ridge. Carefully, they moved to the edge where the ridge dropped away in a sheer cliff about eighty feet down and ended in the grassy meadow below them.

The meadow was cupped in an almost perfect half-circle of sheer rock walls and it was rimmed by a thin line of pines standing up against the base of the cliff-face. More woods, dense and dark, closed off the meadow to the east and north. The field was slightly slanting, with green grass that went nearly waist-high to a man on foot in some places. It had patches of wildflowers in blue and purple and a small stream winding through it that pooled into a small pond at the sloping end. It was an idyllic setting all right. And there wasn't a rustler or steer in sight. As disappointment set in, Joe slumped in the saddle. He knew it had been a long shot, but he'd hoped his idea would work. His hunch had been wrong. Now, he really felt the strain of the day catching up to him. He turned towards Adam, ready with a curse he would never have dared utter in their father's presence, but the words didn't get out. His older brother's reaction was far from what he'd expected. Adam's shoulders were straight and taut, and his brows were drawn low together. Slowly, he moved his hazel gaze from left to right across the meadow. Then his eyes slid up and traveled along the dark trees lining the lip of the ridge they were on. He cocked his head just slightly to one side, as if listening for something.

Joe felt his own shoulders tense and tighten, and quietly asked, "You see something?"

Adam's eyes flickered in his direction. His focused expression eased a bit. Then he turned away, gathered up his reins, and nudged Sport's sides. "Let's go."

Joe thinned his lips and rolled them inward as Adam moved straight past him. He didn't trust himself to speak calmly. This little truce with his older brother had lasted all of an hour and now, like a match igniting within him, his anger had flared to life all over again. He hated being kept in the dark. Being the youngest in the family, he'd always resented the way everybody had coddled him and kept him out of serious matters when he was a child. But he was a grown man now, for Christ's sake. Older brother clearly hadn't gotten that through his fool granite head yet. Joe glared daggers at his back, hoping he could feel it. But the thing with Adam was; if he didn't want to share his thoughts, he wasn't going to. _Oh, no no_ —Adam only spoke when Adam was good and ready. Add that to his ever-growing list of exasperating characteristics . . .

Clamping down on his irritation for now, Joe nudged Cochise and followed his brother.

They skirted along the ridge and found a steep path descending into the meadow. They wound their way down, weaving through spiky bushes and game trails. Used to the terrain, the horses made it down without a slip. They rode along the edge of the meadow, looking out for the others, and spotted their pa, Hoss and Harry emerging from the trees to their right. Joe gave them a wave, signaling the area was clear and they headed out into the thick grass.

They all met up at the southern edge of the meadow and halted their horses.

"This was the place I was thinking of," Joe said to his father. He couldn't quite keep the disappointment out of his voice since it seemed the ride here had been fruitless.

"It's definitely a perfect spot to hide out," his pa replied absently as he gazed out across the grassy field.

"It is at that," Harry commented. "Good shelter, water and plenty of graze."

"And it ain't an easy place to find unless ya know this neck of the woods pretty well," Hoss added.

"Mmmh," Ben hummed in agreement. "Let's take a look around before we head home. Make sure we haven't missed anything . . ."

At that, Joe realized his father thought there might still be something to find in the area. He might have discounted the meadow as a point of interest a little too quickly. After all, even though the rustlers weren't here now, they might have been at some point, and here, their tracks would be easy to pick up. Joe cursed inwardly. His exhaustion was making him less attentive than he usually was. He should have thought of that himself. He ran a quick hand over his eyes, straightened his spine and focused on the meadow with renewed concentration.

The others rode ahead of him, and he fell in a few feet behind his brothers. They kept the horses at a slow walk as they made their way through the high grass, heading towards the center of the meadow. At the south end of the field, the grass went all the way to their stirrups and so, it was a challenge, seeing anything below the rich green blanket floating around them. But Joe tried all the same. The overwhelming greenness was just beginning to allow for glimpses of brown earth to peek through when he sensed Adam slow his pace ahead of him.

Joe glanced up sharply, in time to see his oldest brother draw rein, lean from the saddle and study the ground.

"Hoss," Adam said, voice low and soft.

Hoss had also halted his horse, and he now turned, saw where Adam was looking and dropped his own gaze to the ground.

"I'll be dadburned . . ." he mumbled.

Joe caught up to them as Hoss dismounted and bent down to examine something hidden in the grass. The big man straightened up, keeping his back to Joe. His neck stayed bent like he was staring down at something in his hand.

With his nerves jumping, Joe couldn't take the suspension any longer and asked, "What've you got Hoss?"

Wordlessly, Hoss turned around and held his hand out. In his palm lay the broken shaft of an arrow.

" _Indians?"_ Joe blurted out in surprise. His eyes darted to Adam who, of course, sat completely stone-faced.

Evidently not sharing his surprise either, their pa—who'd appeared beside them as if by magic—only nodded grimly, his coffee-black eyes fixed on the arrow. "Mmm. I was beginning to think that."

Joe jolted towards him in exasperated astonishment. What was it with this family and some members' inability to communicate their thoughts? He was just summoning a few choice words to express his irritation when Harry called out.

"Over here, Boss!"

The foreman was crouching down by a stand of trees about thirty feet away. Joe's jaw clacked shut as he drew a calming breath. Hoss mounted up and they rode over to see what the old man had found. The grass beneath the trees had been broken and flattened; wildflowers lay smashed and pressed into the moist soil and there were scattered hoof prints everywhere, still plainly visible in the soft ground.

"Here's the prints from one of the shod horses," Harry said, running a crooked forefinger along the curve of a particularly deep set of C-shaped imprints. "But most of these prints are unshod . . ." He looked up from his crouched position and noted the arrow Hoss was holding. The foreman's weathered features tightened as he finished his sentence. "Unshod Indian ponies."

His words were followed by an uneasy pause. Joe felt a knot of tension forming in his gut and involuntarily, his fingers twitched around Cochise's reins. When the horse sidestepped nervously, he let go of the reins, wiped his palms on his thighs and picked them up again. Glancing over at his father, he felt that knot in his gut tighten. The serious lines that had settled into place across his pa's brow revealed his own inner tension.

"Let's see what else we can find," Ben said, breaking through the quiet.

Joe took notice of his choice of words. He knew his father wasn't the type of man to jump to conclusions. It didn't need to be said out loud, but it was obvious to everyone that they were now looking for one thing in particular.

The tracks of the missing cattle.

They spread out and rode in pairs, searching the area. The west side, where the meadow was walled in by the towering cliffs, was the most disturbed part of the field. That was where they discovered the remains of a campfire which had been covered with leaves and grass. There, they also found the first human tracks—moccasin prints. On closer examination they noted the prints were of many different sizes, some belonging to women and children. One set of moccasins even had soles, which was fairly unusual. Along the trees rimming the meadow by the cliff face, the ground had been turned up in places where the Indians seemed to have been digging for roots. There were also small mounds of brush tucked away among the trees. The mounds consisted mostly of broken saplings, branches and leaves, which Harry guessed had been used to build shelters. The Indians had covered their tracks well enough that it would have been difficult to spot any evidence of their presence without physically entering the meadow. The ridge that Joe and Adam had looked down from earlier was so high up that the meadow had appeared undisturbed to the naked eye.

Having combed the area by the cliffs, they moved their search onto the sloping section of the field. They rode along the twisting stream and halted by the pond. In this particular spot, they didn't even have to dismount and inspect the ground. Cattle tracks stood out glaringly in the rich-brown soil. The grass all around the pond had been cropped close, indicating the steers had grazed there. No one said a word as they looked down at the ground, letting it all sink in. After a minute, Harry lifted a hand and pointed silently at the opposite side of the pond. There was a trail leading away from the water, cutting straight through the high grass. It disappeared into the dense pine forest that closed off the meadow's east side.

They'd found the trail of the rustlers. But not quite the rustlers they'd thought they were hunting.

xXXx

Joe had mixed feelings about their findings. While he felt a measure of satisfaction that they'd picked up the trail again, the discovery that it was in fact Indians who'd stolen their cattle came with a whole new set of questions and problems. What were the Indians doing here? What tribe did they belong to? How long had they been roaming around the Ponderosa? Were they friendly or hostile? How would his Pa go about confronting them?

All the unknown was making his head spin. He stared down at the cattle tracks again.

Harry was the first to speak, putting an end to everyone's quiet contemplation. "This was their camp all right. Probably no more than a day since they left. Judgin' by the tracks, I'd say there's about fifteen to twenty of 'em."

"That's what I figger too," Hoss agreed. He shoved his hat off his head and scratched his scalp. "I wonder how long they've been here . . ."

Joe was wondering the same thing. He directed a look at his father. "What do you think, Pa? Paiute?"

"More likely Washoe," his Pa replied, rubbing his chin. "Those piles of brush we found reminded me of the brush shacks the Washoe make as a form of quick shelter. Besides, we know most of the Paiute tribes around here. I have to think they would've come to us if they needed food instead of just taking our cattle."

"Washoe," Hoss murmured as his eyebrows met in a frown. "I know of some Washoe people who've taken on jobs as ranch hands and servants in Virginia City, but I ain't heard of them folks living out here like this for some time. Not around these parts anyway."

A dark tone took over their pa's voice. "After the settlers claimed their lands and practically destroyed the Piñon Pine woodlands, there was no room for them to live within their traditional territory. I heard a few bands of suspected Washoe people had been seen near Pyramid Lake and the upper valleys of the Truckee and Carson, but that was a while ago."

Hoss shook his head sadly. "It don't seem right, does it? They lived here long before us. Seems to me they could've at least been given their own section of land in the territory where they could live in peace."

"What has happened to the Washoe isn't right, son," their father said quietly. His features became less severe and stern as his eyes clouded with regret. "Nor is it right what's happened to many other Native tribes in this country. And it's still happening now."

A heavy quiet descended on the group—a quiet weighed down by the severity of the statement. They all knew what was going on around them; clashes between whites and the tribes of the Far West were happening almost non-stop and everywhere. Conflicts were raging with the Sioux of the Northern Plains, the Apache in the Southwest and in their region, Nevada territory, the tensions between white settlers and the Snake Indians had been growing steadily. Everybody knew that the government's continued expansion policies would inevitably lead to more clashes and warfare. Joe remembered listening in on conversations between his father and Adam about the matter many years ago. They'd discussed the growing number of settlers coming to the Comstock and how white westward expansion would have disastrous consequences for Native tribes of the west. He'd only been a child at the time and hadn't fully understood the implications. Now, he understood it all too well.

He shook the recollection off and turned his mind back to the issue at hand. One thing in particular bothered him about the tracks they'd found.

"The horse tracks were mostly from unshod ponies," he said, looking at Harry. "Then what about the two shod horses?"

The old foreman considered it. "Could be stolen," he offered.

"They probably used the shod horses while taking the cattle to make us think the rustlers were white men," Ben commented, casting his eyes around the area.

"I'll bet that's exactly what they did." Hoss settled his hat back on his head. "Somethin' jist didn't seem right about all this. But I don't understand why—"

"Do you feel that?"

It was Adam who'd asked the soft-spoken question, cutting Hoss off mid-sentence. Joe jerked his gaze to him, as did everyone else. Adam's brow was stiff with concentration and there was a slight edge to his posture. Dark and watchful, his eyes were set straight towards the forest ahead. Already looking in the same direction, Ben narrowed his eyes in that way he did when he was assessing a situation.

He made a low, confirming noise in his throat and very quietly said, "They're watching us."

The chilling words left Joe with the sensation of icy fingers trailing up his spine. He followed their line of sight and became sharply aware of the dark woods ahead. A little voice was already chastising him for not being alert and focused when Adam had been, but he pushed it to the back of his awareness. Now, he let his sharpened senses take over. His heart beating faster, he strained his eyes to spot anything among the trees. He put all effort into listening. A dead quiet settled over the meadow. The horses, sensing their riders' unease, tossed their heads and shifted restlessly. Blood pulsed in Joe's temples as he kept staring ahead. Then, there it was—he caught a slight movement in the timber about seventy feet away. It was gone again in a flash, so quickly it would've made most people wonder if there had been anything at all. But Joe immediately knew that what he'd just seen was a man. A man darting among the trees. By pure reflex, his hand slid down to lightly touch the butt of his rifle peeking out of the saddle scabbard near his thigh. He sensed Hoss do the same next to him.

"Keep your hands off your guns," their father said in a soft tone. Hesitating briefly, Joe withdrew his hand and looked at his pa. With slow, deliberate movements, his father lifted his right leg over the saddle and dismounted. He passed his mount's reins to Hoss without taking his eyes off the woods. "Nobody makes a move," he ordered.

Joe felt himself tense up like a coiled spring when his pa started walking through the meadow—straight towards the woods. A cold, jittery sensation slithered through him. His instincts screamed to him that this was a bad idea. He quickly turned his head left and gazed intently at Adam, waiting for a sign from his oldest brother, any signal to take action. Adam's eyes were shiny and astute, tracking their father's every move fixedly, but he maintained that cool demeanor—that air of unwavering steadiness—making it clear that he had no intention of intervening. Joe didn't know whether to feel comforted or frustrated at his sibling's composure. Frankly, he was more inclined to frustrated. He turned his gaze back to their pa and despite the previous orders, he slipped his hand down to rest loosely on his thigh, just a few inches from his gun. He, for one, was not about to let their pa walk into an ambush without being ready to back him up.

Ben finally stopped about twenty feet away at a place where the grass went to his mid-thighs. He spread his legs wide, adopting a confident, yet non-threatening stance as he kept his hands in plain sight, hanging at his sides, open palms pointed out towards the forest.

"My name is Ben Cartwright," he called, loudly and clearly. "I am here to speak in peace!"

His deep voice rang out through the meadow with enough power to carry way beyond the first row of pines lining the forest. It sounded almost as if an echo hung in the air for a moment.

Only silence answered him back.

The wind soughed softly in the branches of the trees. It stirred the meadow grass, creating gentle, green waves around them. Anxious seconds went by, becoming a full minute. Then two minutes. Joe's whole body was vibrating tension. The sense of security he usually felt in this spot—in the saddle with his trusted mount beneath him—was gone. Right now, he felt exposed, out in the open. Vulnerable. He felt eyes all over him, from all directions, scrutinizing him. And yet, all he could see was trees. Dark, impenetrable forest. He shot a sidelong look to the left and, to his bewilderment and continued frustration, Adam sat impassively in the saddle, looking unruffled as ever. He seemed way too calm for a man who was basically a sitting target. Which was what they all were right now, sitting targets. Didn't the guy realize that? Joe felt his exasperation welling up again, momentarily overpowering his unease.

After a full five minutes, still nothing had happened. Although, there was no question that the Indians were out there, watching them.

Joe was relieved when his pa finally turned his back to the woods and began walking back. His body was rigid and ready for whatever action needed to be taken now. He waited expectantly as his pa came over and stopped next to his horse Buck.

"We're just wasting our time here," he said, taking the reins from Hoss. "If and when they speak to us, it'll be on their terms, not ours."

Astonished, Joe stared at him. His surprise doubled when he saw Hoss nod in mute acceptance. His widened eyes swept over their little group. "So what, we're just gonna ride on home and leave them up here with our cattle? After we've come this far?" His voice walked the line between irritation and incredulity. He didn't like the idea one bit and he wanted everyone to know it.

"Don't look like we got a choice," Harry said, the trail of reluctance in his tone revealing that he shared Joe's feeling. "One thing I learnt over the years is that ya cain't make an injun do somethin' he don't want to. Right now, they don't wanna talk to us." The foreman aimed a glance at the woods ahead and grimaced. "I don't like them watchin' us though. We're pretty easy pickins in the open like this."

"We have no reason to believe they're hostile," Ben said firmly. "The Washoe are known as mainly peaceable people."

Joe flared his nostrils. "And in the off chance that they _aren't_ Washoe or that at least some of them _are_ hostile—what's to stop them from sticking one of _those_ "—he stabbed a finger at the arrow shaft tucked in Hoss's belt—"in our backs while we're riding home?"

His father's features fell in grave lines and everyone went quiet, staring at the arrow. Then, intruding on the ominous silence, Adam dropped a flat comment. "They won't do that."

All heads turned to him. His face remained drawn and dispassionate as he continued to gaze at the woods as if he hadn't been paying mind to the conversation at all. Sensing that an elaboration needed to be prompted, Joe inhaled deeply and asked, "And just how can you be so sure?"

Adam kept looking at the woods for five seconds longer before slowly swiveling Joe's way. With maddening calm, he replied, "If they wanted to attack us, they would've done it yesterday."

Another tense silence.

Trying not to lose his temper, Joe scrubbed a hand down his face. As if his oldest brother hadn't been agitating enough today—now he had to go and be all weird and cryptic.

Tilting his head sideways, Hoss regarded their sibling with an innocently puzzled look. "What do ya mean by that, Adam?"

Taking his good old time before replying, Adam looked casually out across the meadow with the expression of someone who was considering taking a stroll.

"Yesterday, when we were at Hoss Heaven. I had the feeling I was being watched by the river, but I didn't see anyone. It must've been them. Hoss Heaven isn't that far from here if you go down through Wildcat Canyon into the lower foothills. There's a shortcut—"

"What's your point?" Joe cut him off, rudely. His impatience and irritation were bubbling over, making his voice brusque and every word clipped. "I don't see why it would have been easier for them to attack us yesterday than it is right now."

In response to the interruption, Adam merely leveled him a bland look. "Think about it. We were in the open meadow with no cover, none of us were carrying guns and we had a woman with us. We made an easy target. If they intended to do harm, they would've done it then, not now while we're armed and on guard."

His reasonable tone made Joe grit his teeth.

Hoss had stood frowning at his feet while Adam spoke and now lifted his head. "I reckon that makes sense." His forehead puckered. "You got a point about us bein' armed and all. I sure hope they don't think _we_ mean _them_ harm."

"They must realize we're here because of the missing cattle," Adam said, growing thoughtful. "They've known we were here since Little Branch Valley. At least, I think they've been watching us since then . . ." Pausing, he suddenly inclined his head at their father. "You noticed it too," he stated more than asked.

Their pa didn't immediately reply but focused on the reins he held loosely in his hands. "I noticed _something_." He looked up at Adam from beneath his heavy, black brows. "I wasn't sure if it was a mountain lion or some other predator."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too at first."

Joe felt an explosive breath rise up his chest and pushed it out through pursed lips. He tilted his head back and found a dark piece of cloud above to focus on. If he looked at Adam right now, he might actually knock him off Sport and that would do no good. Not that the general idea was a bad one or unjustified, but he might land on his bad arm or his hard head and their pa was standing just a few feet away. _But_ _goddamn it_ —he'd been riding next to Adam since Little Branch and his brother had said nothing— _not a damn word_ —about being watched! During the war, he'd probably reveled in the role of the brooding, stoic army captain who called the shots and kept his thoughts to himself, but now, riding alongside his family— _his own brother_ —it was just plain infuriating that he didn't trust anyone enough to share his concerns. _It was plain hurtful_.

After a moment, Harry's voice broke through the string of profanities going off in Joe head.

"How do ya wanna handle this, Boss?" the foreman asked in a gruff, getting-down-to-business manner.

Joe looked to his pa who settled his hands on his hips, thinking. "I'm sure they took those steers because they needed them," he said. "We all saw the tracks; they have women and children with them. We won't punish them for that." He paused and touched a hand to his chin. "But we can't just let them keep stealing from our herds. Not if they're unwilling to even speak with us."

"If they ain't up for talkin', then how are we gonna stop 'em from takin' anymore cattle?" Hoss asked.

Again, their pa thought on it, working his mouth from side to side. "I told Hank and his crew to do a fresh count of the remaining herd and to move the steers to another pasture tomorrow. We'll have to do frequent head counts around the north section to make sure no more are disappearing." Sighing, he walked around to Buck's left flank and made to mount up. "That's about all we can do for now."

There was a creaking of leather as Adam leaned forward in a relaxed pose with his forearms crossed on the pommel of his saddle. "We could put out guards on the northern pastures."

Having just settled in the saddle, their pa turned in his direction. He regarded him with a long, fixed stare. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Adam looked serene as he began scratching Sport behind the ear which the horse seemed to greatly enjoy, judging by the way he twisted his head back and grunted in approval of his master's deed. As Joe contemplated it, he actually thought his older brother's suggestion had been a good one, although he was loathed to admit it. Still, he was about to speak in favor of the idea when Adam spoke again, apparently not finished with this whole cryptic thing he had going on.

"The Washoe don't have a reservation assigned to them yet," he said, focusing on that sweet spot behind Sport's right ear. "Their people have been known to resist attempts of relocation. There might be a special reason they've come up here and why they're avoiding us."

For once, Joe put his irritation aside and instead studied Adam intently. His brother was clearly getting at something important.

"You think they're hiding from something," their pa said slowly, his darkened eyes narrowing shrewdly on Adam. "Or someone. The army?"

Adam shrugged. "It's something that should be taken into consideration."

The army? Joe hadn't even gotten as far as to consider _why_ the Indians were here. If the Natives _were_ running from someone—if the army was involved—that would complicate the situation even further. The notion wasn't unlikely either; over the years, many Native tribes had become famous for their skill in evading the white man on the frontier, both troops and settlers. Quite a few times, Joe had heard stories of soldiers traveling great distances to escort Indian bands from certain areas, only to be dodged by the elusive braves.

He again faced his father, interested to hear his response. His pa was watching Adam intensely, an assessing look on his face. Then, a glimmer of decision flashed in his eyes.

"All right, I'll consider it." His gaze rested on Adam an instant longer before he turned to address their group at large. "Meanwhile, I'll talk to some of our Indian friends in town. They might have some idea about who our visitors are and how we should handle this."

"You've always been in good standin' with 'em," Harry said, nodding in approval. "Word gets around between Indians. They pass on who their friends are and who they can trust."

"Times are changing," Adam remarked to no one in particular.

Joe opened his mouth to speak, but his pa took the words right out of his mouth. "And what does that mean?"

Mimicking Hoss beside him, Joe glanced at their father in surprise. It seemed to have come out of nowhere, but there was no mistaking the edge in their father's tone, a razored note that demanded attention. His eyes seemed to be drilling into Adam now.

"Trust is wearing thin on both sides of this conflict" Adam said mildly, still stroking Sport. "Especially among the Indians. And rightfully so. After all that's been done to them over the years."

Something in Ben's eyes sharpened. His next words were slow and deliberate, carrying with them a gravity that matched his severe demeanor. "When we first came here all those years ago, I vowed that the people of this land, that _any_ non-hostile Indian would have the friendship and support of the Ponderosa. Whatever else has happened in this territory, the reputation of the Ponderosa still stands strong. The Cartwright word can still be trusted."

While he spoke, his gaze never left Adam, not once. Joe looked to his older brother and saw that for the first time, Adam's hand had gone still on Sport's neck. His face stayed turned down, his eyes hidden from view by the brim of his hat.

"Like I said; times are changing," he replied, equally slowly. "Friendships and words might've been enough when we first came here but it's not anymore. The word of one good man is easily tainted by the injustices committed by a hundred other white men. More is needed out here now to secure peace and order. After Sand Creek—"

"YOU weren't here for Sand Creek, Adam," their pa interjected. Joe snapped his head back to their father and Hoss actually cringed under the whiplash of _that_ tone. Their father's voice had raised with booming authority, and his now stern expression emphasized the aura of command he naturally carried about himself.

Adam lifted his head and their gazes clashed. He held his father's eyes, unflinchingly. There was no challenge in his dark depths, nor was there submission. It was just that, a steady, unyielding stare. Neither of the two men blinked. Everything went still inside Joe as he watched them, the level of tension rising. The air practically crackled with it. He vaguely noted the first drops of rain falling, striking his cold hands. A distant rumble of thunder sounded somewhere beyond the mountains. Finally, one side of Adam's mouth turned up just a fraction as he nodded at his father—a hard glint in his eyes.

"You're right. I wasn't."

His voice was flat and steady but tight as a bowstring.

Their intense stare lasted a few seconds more, until Adam turned away. Like a slate being wiped clean, all trace of emotion, meager as it had been, fell from his face as he unfeelingly surveyed the meadow surrounding them. The tight planes of their father's face eased, and Joe let out the breath he'd drawn in several seconds ago. He had no idea what the heck had just passed between Adam and their pa. His eyes leveled briefly with Hoss's and by that swift glance, he knew that Hoss was as perplexed and unnerved as he. He looked over at Harry and found the old man concentrating awkwardly on his own hands.

"Let's get on home," Ben said in a strange tone.

Joe's eyes shot to him, but he didn't catch his expression because his pa had already turned his horse and now headed back through the meadow the way they'd come. Without a word, Harry followed, staying a few feet behind him.

Joe turned to Adam who sat in the exact same position, staring out at the meadow. He then caught Hoss's eyes, and saw the concern lighting his blue gaze. The same concern he felt himself with each wave of apprehension that swept over him. Hoss looked briefly at Adam then back at Joe, and subtly inclined his head backward. Understanding his meaning, Joe turned Cochise and followed Hoss as they slowly headed back through the meadow, following their father. Joe remained tense in the saddle. He still felt _them_ watching him—their presence in the woods behind him was as certain as the beat of his own heart. But they weren't the main reason for his unease. The sense of foreboding that had settled in the pit of his stomach had little to do with the Indians and everything to do with the strange interaction between his pa and Adam.

Raindrops, falling few and far still, were making dark dots on his green jacket and pants. Joe lifted his face and looked up at the sky. The somber grey expanse above was now broken up by smooth, charcoal swirls. The clouds hung low as if weighed down, as if they would drop their loads at any moment. Another rumble of thunder rolled somewhere over the mountains, closer this time.

They hadn't ridden very far when Joe looked over his shoulder and saw that Adam wasn't following them. He reined up. So did Hoss. In quiet, unspoken agreement, they waited for their brother. Just a few seconds later, Adam finally turned his horse around and rode towards them. He didn't comment or look at either of them as Joe settled on one side of him, and Hoss on the other. Saying nothing, the brothers rode away, leaving the dark forest and its mysterious occupants behind.


	47. Chapter 47

**Author's Notes**

 _Hi everybody!_

 _I apologize for keeping you waiting for so long. I've been struggling for a while and I just couldn't concentrate on my writing. But over the last few weeks I have received some sweet and heartwarming reviews—letting me know that there is still an interest in the story (in spite of this appallingly long wait). Thank you so very, very much, guys (Dear Reader, Jeanne, Ariel, guest and members - you are great!) You absolutely gave me the boost I needed to come back with another chapter. And a long one at that :)_

 _Now, please bear in mind that I originally intended to post this much, much sooner. But it wasn't to be. So I regret that this long break affects the slow tension-building I wanted to create over the last three chapters (44-46)._

 _A little recap: The Cartwrights have been out hunting for rustlers while Madeline and our favorite doctor have been waiting at home on the Ponderosa. While the last two chapters have focused on the Cartwrights pov's, this next one focuses on what happens meanwhile at the Ponderosa._ _We've also had this building Adam/Doc drama for a while now, especially since the incident at the river in chapter 42 where the good doctor flipped out on Adam and many you, dear readers, were confused by Doc's behavior. The chapter you are about to read will hopefully offer a new insight into the complex relationship between these two wonderful characters._

 _If you feel up to it, I really recommend doing a quick read-through of chap 44 because there will be many references to it._

 _Oh and, Jeanne asked an interesting question: which Doc Martin is being portrayed in my story? Let me know in your reviews who you picture while reading. I would love to know! I'll reveal my favorite Doc Martin in the next chapter :)_

 _Right, grab a cup of tea, put your feet up and please enjoy this. I'll do my best to get another one up soon. I cannot thank you enough for your support. I've missed you all._

 _Becky_

* * *

 **Chapter 47**

In the late afternoon, the rain came bucketing down. It crashed onto the roof like a thousand little drumsticks drumming a relentless tune. It pelted the windowpanes and streamed down the glass in blurry sheets. It felt as though they were under bombardment from the Heavens; the rain fell and struck the house with such force, with such extraordinary sound, it seemed almost as if the translucent drops had been turned to solid lead by some infernal power, and a hail of bullets now rained down upon them.

Madeline was pacing the area between the front door and the alcove. She'd just completed the circuit for the nineteenth time when a cracking roar of thunder gave her a start. She jerked to a halt at the front door, placing her hands on the dresser by the wall to steady herself. A few seconds later, another rumbling boom exploded outside. She closed her eyes and listened. When she was a little girl, she used to think that storms were God's way of showing his disapproval and that thunder was his stern voice, scolding her when she'd behaved improperly. Of course, now, as a grown, learned woman, she knew better. Weather constantly changed, like the seasons did. No living being, including herself, could influence it. Therefore, the storm raging outside was clearly unrelated to her untoward behavior lately. And the thunder that currently threatened to numb her eardrums really had nothing to do with the indecent thoughts she'd been thinking last night. About Adam. The fact that she, a supposedly respectable lady, had lain awake for hours fantasizing about a man was certainly not connected to this demonstration of nature's wrath. Why, they were merely two separate events, happening within a remarkably short time of one another. Purely coincidence. With those not quite convincing words ringing in her mind, she let go of the dresser, turned and began her twentieth circuit.

It had been unnaturally dark for most of the day and she and Hop Sing had lit the lamps around the sitting room hours ago. Her uncle had started a fire in the hearth after she'd needed to get her cream-colored shawl from her room to ward off the autumn chill that permeated the air. He'd gotten up from his chair to stoke the flames higher a couple of times and now, a cozy warmth was finally starting to settle in the dimly lit sitting room. She appreciated his thought. But if the fire hadn't warmed her up, all her pacing probably would have done the job.

Turning on her heel by Ben's desk, she started back towards the front door, following along the red rug on the floor. The wind had picked up outside, rising to a howl. She could hear rainwater gushing off the porch roof and splashing onto the ground in the yard. In her humble opinion, this sort of weather called for steaming drinks and roaring fireplaces and peaceful indoor activities such as reading, chess games and pleasant conversation. It was _not_ suitable weather conditions for riding around outside looking for cows. Most definitely not.

Twentieth lap completed, Madeline stopped and stared at the front door which remained frustratingly shut. She listened to the untamed powers raging outside, just a few feet away. She caught the dark rumble of thunder approaching, growing as it neared until it crescendoed and erupted violently as if the sky was splitting apart just above the house. The deafening crack was followed by a softer rumbling sound that reverberated through the whole house, rattling her to the core. She shuddered. Adam was out there somewhere. He must be terribly cold and wet. And tired. Her heart squeezed painfully and she wrapped her arms around her middle. Well, it would be fairly unwise for any person to be out in this weather but for someone who was already unwell as she knew he was, being out in a thunderstorm was more than unwise. _Foolish_ , really seemed a more fitting description. She repressed a huff and turned away from the door. He should never have gone. And, quite frankly, Ben and her uncle should never have allowed him to. He clearly wasn't strong enough yet for this sort of cow-tracking-nonsense—in body or in mind. Oh, but he just _had_ to go and be all stubborn about it. And now, he might very well end up ill and stuck in bed for Lord knows how long and he would have no one but his own silly self to thank for it!

This time, a displeased huff got out and Madeline immediately firmed her mouth to a tight frown. She stared hard at a painting of an idyllic landscape on the wall, her emotions churning furiously. Goodness, no one could create such chaos within her as Adam could! The man's stubbornness was absolute. It was unparalleled, a thing of its own. And, dear God . . . she loved him for it. At that thought, the frustration, which was really just a product of her frayed nerves, seeped out of her. A deeper, much more powerful emotion took over, hitting her with such force it left her breathless.

She loved him for his fierce determination, his strength of will, his manliness of heart. For his calm confidence in his own abilities, for his trust in his own body and what it could do. And she loved him for his pride. That unwavering, masculine pride that he carried about him so naturally, and not in an arrogant way, but in a confident way—in a manner that commanded respect and inspired trust and esteem. These were the traits she had admired so about him when they first met, and although those same traits sparked immense displeasure in her sometimes, she respected them. He was a man, with male stubbornness and male pride, and he needed to do things his way, and she loved him for that, too. But Lord knew, loving Adam Cartwright could be as frightening as it was thrilling. And at this moment, the feeling positively terrified her.

Madeline sighed out a trembling breath. Tugging at her lower lip with her teeth, she again looked at the front door, willing it to swing open and put an end to the tense wait. But the door stayed as it was, immovable as the gut-churning feeling of helplessness simmering within her. She turned around, rubbed her hands gently up and down her arms. Then she resumed pacing—her steps slower and subdued this time. Up until now, the activity hadn't helped calm her uneasiness. But anything was better than standing still.

She walked back towards the alcove and threw a glance at the grandfather clock as she passed it. Her heart stumbled over its own beat. _Surely_ , _they hadn't meant to be away for this long?_ They'd ridden out before breakfast and now it was more than six o'clock! Her stomach plummeted unhelpfully. Had something happened to them? What if they had run into some sort of trouble? What if they were caught up in this dreadful storm and in need of help? The worry-thoughts raced through her mind—each one more frightening than the last. She came to an unsteady stop by the big desk in the alcove and closed her eyes. _Panicking won't help matters, Madeline,"_ she chided herself. With a hand pressed to her breast, she fought her anxiety back down again. She tried to order her thoughts, think rationally. The fact that the men hadn't returned yet didn't mean that anything was wrong. They might simply be delayed due to the bad weather. They might even have decided to take shelter in a . . . well, she couldn't quite summon the name for it—but one of those charming little huts that were dotted around the different sections of the Ponderosa. Perhaps they had found themselves such a hut. Perhaps they were dry and warm there and simply waiting the storm out. Yes, that seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation for their delay. In which case, there really was no reason to worry. Opening her eyes, she drew her shawl tighter around herself. Despite the warmth in the house, a peculiar chill had settled within her. A chill of dread.

Oh, she _was_ worried. She couldn't help it. She needed to know that Adam was all right. And not just all right physically. Ever since he had left in the morning, she'd had this tight ache lodged in her chest. She'd gone over the awful moment countless times in her mind; the look on Adam's face when her uncle Paul had dropped that comment about their leaving tomorrow. The way he'd turned his back to her when she'd reached out to him. The way he'd stalked out of the house and ridden off without looking back at her even once. Without giving her a chance to explain why she needed to return to Virginia City with her uncle. She hadn't even had time to tell him that she would miss him as much as she believed he would her. The thought of him being upset with her was unbearable. But she understood his reaction—she realized that it was born out of pain, not anger. She knew him well enough to recognize when he used his temper to conceal his hurt, and that was what he'd done this morning. That temper of his, combined with his stubbornness and pride, made for a worrying, not to mention dangerous combination. Dangerous to himself more than anyone else . . .

Madeline frowned as she gently set her fingers down on the great mahogany desk in front of her. Not for the first time, she wondered if her decision to go back to Virginia City was the right one. Her doubts had been reinforced by Adam's reaction to the news. If only she could be in two places at once. Choosing between the two people who needed her most, was breaking her heart. Unfortunately, it seemed like everything she did—every decision she made lately—she always ended up disappointing or hurting one of the two men she loved so dearly. She just had no idea what to do about it. And she didn't know how much longer she could cope with the unhappy situation.

With a shake of her head, she forced her mind to a halt. Nothing would be helped by dwelling on the issues between her uncle and Adam now. There were more urgent matters. She walked around the big desk, her fingertips sliding along the smooth, wooden top as she went. Gazing up at the rain-blurred window behind the desk, she strained her ears, listening carefully. It would take hearing like a cat's to be able to detect the sound of horses through the thunder and rain. She went to the back wall and tiptoed up, but the window was too high for her to look out of. Or she was too short. She released a despairing breath, turned and walked away—on route to the front door for the twenty-first time. She'd just passed the grandfather clock when a voice called to her from across the room.

"Pacing back and forth won't help matters, you know. All you're doing is wearing out Ben's fine Indian carpet."

Madeline stopped and looked towards the hearth where her uncle stood stoking the fire again. He wasn't looking her way but focused on his task, poking and shoving the burning logs around. She dropped her eyes to the red carpet at her feet. "I'm sorry." She sighed and folded her arms around herself. "I just wish he hadn't gone . . ."

"He'll be fine," her uncle muttered.

He gave a log a particularly harsh shove, sending sparks flying about the hearth. Then he tapped the fire poker and settled it in its holder with a clatter. Madeline watched him as he stepped over to the red wing chair and folded himself comfortably into the seat, crossing his legs. He pulled his glasses from his vest pocket, settled them on his nose and leaned forwards to grab the book he'd been reading for most of the afternoon from the table. Without glancing at her once, he flipped it open to the right page and picked up where he'd left off. Madeline stood motionless, arms crossed, her hands cupping her elbows. After a moment, she walked across the floor and stopped behind the settee. She eyed the doctor intently. He harrumphed softly and turned a page.

"You are not even the slightest bit concerned?" she probed.

"No."

He didn't deign to look up from his book.

Tilting her face down, Madeline uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on the backrest of the settee. She smoothed her palms over the polished wood, then tapped it in quick succession with her fingers, almost in tune with the staccato beat of the rain rattling the windows. Restlessness was bubbling up inside her as if it was taking possession of her body, like some kind of madness. She looked back over her shoulder at the closed front door, heard the wind wailing on the other side of it. Her eyes lingered there for a second before she faced her uncle again. His face was half-lit by fire and his features were distant and unemotional as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"I don't understand how you can be so calm," she said, wonderment in her tone.

He merely adjusted his glasses and turned another page.

Her fingers gripped the backrest of the settee harder. Well, the least he could do was respond. Couldn't he hear the storm raging outside? Did he not realize that Adam and the others were out there somewhere? Here she was, worry clawing at her insides, and he was lounging and reading in his chair, looking like tranquility itself! Madeline shook her head in slow bafflement. Behind her, the grandfather clock ticked with a maddening constant, cadence.

Finally, she took a sharp intake of breath as her voice exploded out of her. "Oh, for Goodness' sake, Uncle Paul—it's storming terribly outside, they've been gone all day and they rode out with, with—" She flung a hand up and around in the air "—With half an armory!"

Her uncle planted a finger on the page to mark where he was and peered at her over the tops of his glasses. "The Cartwrights know how to handle themselves."

She bit her lip and lowered her hands do the front of her skirt. "But they have been away for such a long time . . . it's getting late."

His gaze fell to his book again. "They'll be back in time for supper, I'm sure."

"But suppose they have run into some sort of trouble, what if they—"

"Madeline, they're _ranchers_ ," he broke in, looking up at her as he emphasized the word. "They've dealt with bad weather, rustlers and God knows what else many times before. This is part of their way of life. A big part."

Amid the rain drumming on the roof, Madeline heard the sound of her own heartbeat hammering in her ears as she stared at her uncle. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned around, taking three steps away from the settee. He was right and she knew it. She was overreacting. The Cartwrights were probably very capable of handling whatever situation they were in just as they'd probably dealt with similar circumstances in the past. As her uncle said; they were ranchers, and ranch-life on the frontier came with certain stresses and risks. Heavens, it was a very different life to the one she had known before coming to the West. It would all take some getting used to. She fidgeted with the folds of her skirt. Oh, but how much longer would this dreadful waiting go on for?

"My Belle," her uncle called behind her, "won't you please sit own? Your tea is getting cold."

She turned around again, and saw the china cup standing on the table, its contents untouched. She'd completely forgotten about it. The beverage didn't appeal to her in the least. But it would be terribly impolite of her not to drink it when Hop Sing had made it. Her uncle had already had half of his own tea, she noted. In resigned acceptance, Madeline walked back to the settee and took a seat even though her nerves protested the move. Her uncle never looked up, seemingly too engrossed in his book. She reached for her cup and, holding its saucer in one hand, sipped delicately. The now lukewarm drink didn't have any of its usual calming effect on her. She lowered the cup and saucer to her lap, rubbing the white porcelain with her fingertips as she glanced about the darkened room, looking for something to occupy her mind. Her eyes landed on the pile of Cartwright shirts lying next to her on the settee, neatly folded once again after being tossed away in the midst of the commotion earlier. She extended a hand and gently touched the shirt at the top. The black one. Her lips curved wistfully as she smoothed her fingers over the soft cotton. There was something strangely comforting about touching something of _his_ —a shirt he'd worn so much—one she could easily picture him in. A tight pressure formed in her chest as she did just that. Was it really possible that she missed him after less than a day without him? That growing pressure said it was. She dreaded to think how things would be once she was back in Virginia City. How often would she see him then?

Her uncle's voice lifted above the sound of the wailing wind, penetrating her troubled thoughts. "Did you finish packing for tomorrow?"

Madeline glanced over at him, but his attention was still on his book. The question, coming from him, sparked a peculiar sensation in her. A decidedly disagreeable sensation. She breathed in and modulated her voice to its usual pleasant, soft tone. "Yes, Uncle."

"Good." He lifted his hand to his mouth, moistened his finger and turned another page. "We'll be leaving early. With any luck, we'll be able to slip through town and make it home while most folks are still at church for the Sunday service."

She gave a timid nod.

"Do you think Adam will be accompanying us on the ride?" he asked casually. A little too casually.

Madeline raised her head and regarded him for a drawn-out moment. "I really couldn't say. As I am sure you noticed, I didn't have the chance to discuss our departure with him before he left this morning."

The change in her uncle's bearing was immediate, though indefinable. She watched his gaze still on some particular spot on the page he was at. A second later, his eyes began moving again, sliding over the words without further pause. This conversation should end here. She should say nothing more of the matter. But what had started as a peculiar sensation within her, had now grown to a painful feeling, a building sort of feeling—as if something powerful were brewing inside of her.

"Uncle Paul," she said, her quiet voice almost drowning out in the sounds of the rain. "You knew that I intended to speak with Adam in private about the matter of our leaving."

"Yes, and I can well imagine how that might have gone," he replied, surprisingly quickly, giving the impression he hadn't been concentrating on his reading at all.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He finally looked up at her, brows arching high as if the answer was obvious. "Why, he would've tried to talk you into staying here, of course."

Madeline's gaze dropped to the cup in her hands. "I don't believe he would have done that . . ."

"Oh, I do."

His scoffing tone made her eyes shoot back up to him, sharply. Again, he was focused on his book. Her grip tightened around the delicate porcelain.

"Regardless of that," she said, working to keep her voice even, "I must say that your handling of the matter seemed rather insensitive." She leveled him a serious look. "You deliberately provoked him this morning."

"Pffft, that was nothing." With a careless wave of his hand, the doctor sat forwards to take his cup from the coffee table. "Just a little friendly ribbing, that's all."

Madeline took a long breath and held it. Her uncle's off-hand manner was grating precariously on her overstretched nerves. Doing her best to keep a calm appearance, she asked, "What about yesterday, Uncle?"

A crash of thunder ruptured and rumbled outside.

Without looking at her, he took a sip of tea. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

The muscles in her back tensed. She felt a very rare heat rise up from her chest and stain her face that, for once, had nothing to do with embarrassment or blushing. "In my view, there was nothing _friendly_ about the manner in which you treated Adam yesterday on the picnic," she said and set her saucer and cup down on the coffee table. A little too forcefully as it happened; the porcelain rattled, and drips of tea almost went sloshing over the rim of the cup.

Her uncle's gaze went first to the dishware, then traveled up to her face. Whatever her expression was at that moment, he appeared mildly surprised at it. "So, I lost my temper a little bit. Adam didn't take it seriously."

Her eyes sharpened on him. "Are you certain of that?"

"Of course, I am," he grunted, the first brink of irritation entering his voice as he replaced his own teacup on the table. "I've known the lad since he was fourteen years old—I'd say I know him quite well by now."

She held onto her patience with an effort. "I realize that you have known him for a long time. Much longer than I. But while I didn't know him before he went to war, I'd wager that he is not the same man now as he was before."

She stopped there, wanting him to think about her words. The doctor's only response was a long, unreadable stare over the tops of his glasses perched on the end of his nose. Then, as if he were quite finished with their discussion, he looked down at his book again, his expression smoothing out and returning to its habitual unconcerned state. Madeline forced out a noisy sigh. What had she expected? An open, honest conversation and effective emotional communication? Really, her uncle could be almost as bad as Adam. Why must men be so bothersome? She, on the other hand, was quite the opposite in this regard. She had always been highly sensitive and vulnerable by nature and she wore her emotions close to the surface because she wasn't capable of anything else. They were as uncontrollable to her as the storm currently rampaging outside. Even now, she felt them rising within, causing her throat to burn. When her vision began to blur, she shifted her eyes away from her uncle and focused instead on the fireplace behind him. For a while, the sound of the rain pelting the roof and windows filled her ears as she struggled to regain control of herself. She rubbed the soft silk of her shawl, watching the flames flickering and casting dancing, golden light onto the walls and furniture around the hearth. The trance-like state the fire produced gradually relaxed her enough that the sting in her throat abated. Then, strangely, she heard herself speak, though she hadn't intended to—as if the thought in her heart somehow found its way to her lips.

"He isn't well, Uncle Paul . . ."

She looked at her uncle again, focusing on the visible side of his face, lit by the fire. A nerve spasmed in his cheek, the only indication he had heard her.

Even more softly, she said, "I am worried about what might happen if you keep pushing him."

"I'm not the only one doing the pushing, Madeline," he replied with something of a bite to his tone. Suddenly, his eyes speared up at her.

She met his flinty look with a respectable imitation of calm. "I know that Adam has his own share of the blame for this conflict that has developed between the two of you." The words had barely left her mouth before she realized that this was the first time she had addressed the issue directly. The realization brought with it an odd sense of relief. Stiffening her shoulders, she continued, "This last week I have watched the two of you become increasingly unpleasant with each other. Your nearly constant bickering and uncivil behavior has put a strain on everyone in this house." A fresh wave of hot emotion welled up her throat as the stress of it all came rushing over her. She had to pause and glance away for a moment. Gathering up her resolve, she faced him again, her eyes locking directly onto his. "And I must tell you that I was greatly disturbed by your display of ill temper yesterday on the picnic."

"How unfortunate," he said, tone blatantly uninterested in more of this conversation as he shifted his focus to his book once more.

Madeline stared at him, frustration flaring in her chest. She opened her mouth, about to speak her most dissatisfied mind, then snapped it shut. The risk of her saying something unbecoming was far too great at that second. That hot feeling tightened to a knot as quiet anger boiled inside her. She should be appalled at herself, but her usually mild temper was strained to its limits. She should take herself to her room, compose herself, but she didn't move a fraction on the settee. No, instead, a rare case of defiance took hold of her. This was one instance where she couldn't—where she _wouldn't_ back down.

" _Why_ Uncle Paul?" she breathed. "Why would you behave in such a way toward him?"

A tell-tale quiver had found its way into her voice, but she was helpless against it. It got her uncle's attention—his eyes swept up swiftly to take in her expression. A moment later he looked away again, his face turning stony as he retreated behind his indifferent manner again.

Madeline clutched her shawl tightly. "I insist that you answer my question."

Without warning, he snapped his book shut with a smack, making her startle in her seat. "All right, I'll answer it. The lad was in a bad mood all day yesterday and he took it out on everybody else." He jerked his spectacles off his nose and pointed them at her. "Especially _you_."

Reflexively, her hand had shot up to her breast and now covered her thumping heart. "He . . . he was having a difficult day, he didn't—"

"Every day is a difficult day for him." Her uncle dealt her an unforgiving look.

Her face grew hot. "He isn't _well,_ he—"

"Should that be an excuse for him to act bad-mannered?"

" _Excuse?"_ She felt her lips vibrating with indignation. "Surely you know that it isn't his intention to act that way!"

He gave a haughty toss of his head, throwing his book onto the coffee table. "It's never Adam's intention to act any way that causes people grief, yet it appears to happen frequently, doesn't it?"

"Oh, for the LOVE of—" Her voice broke off and she suddenly found herself jolting up from the settee. "He has been struggling terribly with everything that has happened these last weeks—with his concern for me, with his injury, with the loss of his friend— _everything_!" A clap of thunder exploded at the end of her outburst, echoing eerily in the following stillness. Her uncle sat as if frozen, his widened eyes looking her up and down.

"Now, Madeline—"

"No, Uncle Paul," she cut him off, surprising him, and indeed, herself. Even more surprisingly; she stepped around the coffee table and advanced on him. He quickly leaned back in his chair. "You know how he has suffered," she snapped. "He has so much pain and guilt tearing him up inside—of course his behavior is affected by it all. And, _yes_ —he can be dreadfully troublesome when those brooding moods of his overcome him." Her voice sounded wrong to her own ears—it was sharp and brittle—but she went on regardless, powerless to stop, as if something wild had been unleashed inside her. "I realize that he hasn't behaved amiably towards you, but you knew of the intense pressure he was under and still, you added to that strain!"

Lightning flashed, filling the darkened room with blue light. She stopped directly in front of her uncle's chair, her chest heaving with emotion. He stared up at her, the surprise melting from his face as his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed to slits.

"During our stay here, this, this _thing_ between you and Adam has only gotten worse," she exclaimed. "And yesterday—for just a brief instant—I believed that you might actually be able to settle your differences." A touch of unaccustomed bitterness seeped into her tone. "But for some reason that is still baffling to me, you ended up flying off at him even after he attempted to mend the rift between the two of you!"

Something flashed in her uncle's eyes then and he thrust his head forward as if he hadn't heard right. "Say what now?"

Madeline sucked in a breath. "Adam went out to you when you were fishing by the river. For the first time in days, he approached you, wanting to spend time with you and you just—"

He halted her with a raised hand, his lips twisting sardonically. "I know exactly why he came to me and it damn sure as hell wasn't to _spend time_ with me—I can tell you that much!"

Her mouth fell open with a gasp. She drew herself up, placing her hands on her hips. " _Language_ , Uncle Paul!"

His expression faltered and he had the good grace to duck his head at her reprimand.

An abrupt silence fell between them. It was filled by more shattering thunder, more rain. Madeline closed her eyes, hard. Her head was pounding, her pulse hammering away in her neck. _Good Gracious!_ How had everything about this day spiraled so wildly out of control? This horrible argument was really the last thing she'd wanted. It hadn't resolved anything, and she was no closer to understanding her uncle. She made a tremendous effort to gather her composure. Or, rather, the tattered remnants of it. Then she opened her eyes and fixed the frustrating man with an unyielding stare.

"I don't understand why you are behaving in this manner. But I do know that if you continue this way, one of these days you _will_ push him too far . . ." Trembling warning etched her voice. "And I'm afraid you will come to regret it. Deeply."

His head remained bent, making it impossible for her to gauge his reaction to those grave words. She released a tremulous sigh. Suddenly exhausted both emotionally and physically, she let her hands fall from her hips and turned her face towards the glowing fireplace.

"Adam needs us now more than ever. He needs his family, he needs me . . ." She looked at her uncle again. "And he needs you, too."

His chin jerked up as if he'd been slapped. "Needs _me_?" Then, to her surprise, he laughed. The sound was bitter and harsh. "Adam Cartwright is generally not in the habit of needing other people, Madeline. In fact, he makes it a point to be unresponsive and hostile to any gesture of concern or practical care anybody offers him. You may be the one person in the world he doesn't have his guard up with aside from Ben—but make no mistake—that is a rare position." Turning away, he muttered under his breath. " _Needs me_. I've never heard anything so preposterous in all my days."

Madeline stilled completely. Where had that little outburst come from? A slow frown worked its way onto her face. "Of course he needs you . . ."

He huffed, but it sounded breathy and a little forced. Lacking any real frustration. Silently, he began fidgeting with his glasses in his lap. An odd feeling of discomfort invaded her body and Madeline instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. Her uncle's whole manner had changed, out of nowhere. She tilted her head, searching his down-turned face. "Uncle?"

He seemed to be giving his spectacles one thorough inspection. Watching him, she felt the last shreds of her anger trickle away. Just like that, her naturally sweet temper reasserted itself and her senses kicked in. Cautiously, she lowered herself to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of him. She weighed her words, then she spoke, keeping her voice deliberately soft.

"You have been present in his life since he was a boy. You watched him grow into a man. You've supported him and his family through terrible trials." The doctor's jaw tightened but he didn't comment. After the slightest hesitation, she gently said, "When I first came here and Adam was still at war, you spoke of him often, and with fondness. I know you care for him like he was your own—"

"He _isn't_ my son, Madeline," her uncle interjected, still avoiding her gaze. "And there might've been a time when he had a need for me but that certainly isn't the case anymore." His face contorted into something that started as a smile and ended up a grimace. "Now, I'm little more than an acquaintance to him."

Madeline stared at him for a stunned second. "That isn't true . . ."

"Oh, yes, it is." He nodded with a sort of quiet acceptance and turned towards the fireplace.

A sharp pang raced through her. She struggled for a response, but before she could tell him how terribly wrong he was, he began speaking again, staring into the flames. "When the lad stepped into my office all those years ago, I took to him straight away, you know. I knew he was a special boy. One who would do great things. There was a time when he would visit me every week. We'd play chess, discuss books . . . sometimes, he even came to me when he was at odds with Ben." His eyes had taken on a distant, glazed look as he recalled those faraway memories. "It was thanks to my close friendship with Ben that I had the pleasure of watching Adam grow up." With a twitch of his lips, he added, "Him and those two impish brothers of his. They were something of a handful." His smile faded before it could settle. "I suppose, being with the Cartwrights back then was the closest I've ever been to feeling like a real part of a family . . ."

Madeline clung to his every word, her heart thundering like a wild bird suddenly caged. She saw the exact moment he came back to himself; he blinked, glanced sideways at her and shifted uncomfortably, as if embarrassed he'd revealed so much.

"A foolish thought," he finished in a sudden cool tone. He settled his hands on the armrests of his chair and turned back towards the fire, carefully distancing himself again.

A rush of tender emotion flared in her chest. She longed to reach out to him, offer him comfort and acceptance for opening himself to her and for giving her this rare insight. But she knew he wouldn't welcome the gesture. She kept her arms folded around herself and said, "I don't find it foolish at all. In fact, I think it makes perfect sense that you would feel that way."

His hand gripped the armrest tightly, fingers clenching. "It's of no matter now. Those times are long gone. The boys are grown, and we've all changed. No one more so than Adam." He lifted his chin. "You were right about that. He's not the same as he was before the war."

She had no doubt about that. Although she'd only known Adam a few months, she had already seen the best and worst sides to him. Despite his serious nature, she'd also experienced his playful and witty side and, in those instances, she believed she saw glimpses of the man he was before he'd faced the horrors of war. Unfortunately, she had also come to know his dark moods well, and it pained her like nothing else to see him suffer so. But she had only known Adam this way. How must the change in him affect the people who had known him before the war? Until now, she hadn't truly considered that.

Her throat ached with suppressed feeling, but she somehow managed to speak around it. "He may not always behave the same way, but he is still the Adam you have known for seventeen years. He may not act like it, but he does still _need_ people. The people who are most important to him . . ."

Her soft words were followed by the echo of retreating thunder. The rain had quieted to a light tapping on the roof.

" _Important_ ," her uncle murmured, staring sightlessly at the fireplace. The flames illuminated only one side of his face, light and shadows at play. After a long pause, he said, "I am not his father, but I was proud of that boy when he got accepted into West Point." His fingers rubbed absently along the arm of the chair. "I was there, standing right beside Ben, waving farewell as he rode off to pursue an education . . . and years later, we both waved him off when he left to join the war." His voice had taken on a terrible hollow quality. Madeline was unable to look away from him. She sat dead-still, not daring to speak. "I am _not_ his father," he repeated, sharper this time, "but Lord knows, I spent countless sleepless nights worrying about him these last four years as if he were my own kin. And yet, I have no right to anything. Just as with you." A profound emptiness dulled his eyes. "I was a fool to believe otherwise."

Her stomach cramped. What did he mean by all this? She swallowed hard, struggling to make sense of his words. "Uncle Paul, please—"

"Remember that day when I heard Adam had returned home, and I went out to see him?" He spoke straight over her. "Do you know what the first thing he said to me was?"

Mutely, she closed her mouth and shook her head.

"He told me _I shouldn't have gone to the trouble_." A snort left him, harsh and abrupt. "After four years—that's what he said to me." His expression hardened. "The boy was obviously ill, yet he refused to let me tend to him. He was distant and reserved. More unapproachable than I've ever known him to be."

Slices of memories from that day flickered through Madeline's mind . . . her uncle's excitement at the news of Adam Cartwright's return and his keenness to visit the Ponderosa . . . his gloomy mood when he'd come home to her, his reluctance to speak about the reunion . . .

Coming back to the present, she focused on her uncle again, her heart going out to him.

"I do remember that you seemed troubled after you had been to see him," she said. "You seemed . . . disheartened. But Uncle Paul, this is exactly what I mean by Adam needing us." Taking a chance, she placed her hand over his arm and fixed her gaze to the side of his stern face. "Thousands of soldiers around the country are still suffering the consequences of this four-year nightmare. They are returning home changed men, wounded—not only in body—but in mind and spirit. They have experienced terrors that most of us cannot even begin to imagine. And what they have endured will continue to torment many of them, I believe, for a long time yet." She sighed with difficulty. "Although the war has ended, the suffering is far from over. Especially for the men who fought. Adam may not admit it to us or even to himself, but he needs help to heal." She gave her uncle's arm a squeeze. "He needs _our_ help."

The doctor tensed under her hand. For suspended seconds, he sat rigidly, face directed at the fire. "And just how am _I_ supposed to help him?" His voice had gone unnaturally slow and deep. Almost menacing.

Madeline hesitated, then carefully withdrew her hand. "As I said before, I know that Adam hasn't acted amiable towards you lately. His temper and bad moods are part of the reason why these problems have arisen between the two of you, I realize that." She bit down on her lip. "But if you could only find a way to show him a little more patience and understanding, I really do believe—"

" _Patience and understanding_?" Her uncle spat the words and snapped towards her. "Just imagine for one moment, Madeline, what it's like trying to be that man's doctor—let alone friend! Every time I show the slightest bit of concern he either dismisses me or throws it back in my face. He refuses any offer of help. He shuts me out—not to mention—I'm beginning to doubt he would even give me the time of day if not for the fact that _you_ are my niece!" His shoulders heaved jerkily as though he were striving to suppress some powerful emotion. "It's really very difficult to care about a person who acts like that—don't you think?"

His frustration brought a pronounced glitter to his grey eyes as they burned into hers. Madeline fought to keep her gaze steady although the impact of his words struck her like a knife. For the first time, she set her concern for Adam aside and saw things from her uncle' perspective clearly. Understanding rippled through her as she saw _his_ pain and the strain that _he_ had been under. And it hurt more than she could have imagined. In spite of his hostility, there was just soft sympathy in her own tone as she replied, "Uncle . . . I know how much you care about him."

He released a scoff-ring breath. "Is that right?" She almost flinched at the derision in his voice. "Haven't you just informed me how horribly I treat the boy?"

Clutching at her shawl, she phrased her reply with great care. "I stand by my opinion that you are too harsh on him at times. That you provoke him unnecessarily, just as he does you on occasion." Her tone gentled. "But there is no doubt in my mind that the two of you care deeply for one another . . ."

He snorted, a sound that contradicted her words. Then he turned away from her and instinctively, she knew that he was also turning away from the conversation. Closing himself off because she was getting too close. Quiet fell as a heavy blanket around them. All of a sudden, the slowing rhythm of raindrops on the roof sounded unbearably loud. Madeline waited for a long while, her stomach in knots. She kept her eyes trained on the side of her uncle's face, clinging to the hope that he would say something more. Anything. He was suffering too—she was beginning to understand just how much now—and like Adam, he hid behind his temper and detached manner to conceal his emotions. Her heart swelled with affection at the thought. How alike they were in this respect. Both of them, so stubborn, so proud. And both such good men. The truth was that she had been so focused on Adam this last week, she hadn't been as attentive of her uncle's needs as usual. The guilt of it cut her deeply. Especially since this unexpected confrontation was making her see her uncle's recent behavior in a new light. As the silence stretched on, it became increasingly obvious that he wasn't going to pick up the conversation. But the thought of them leaving things like this, unresolved, was too much for her to bear.

"Uncle Paul?" she ventured, despair closing in on her.

He didn't acknowledge her in any way. She knew his silence didn't stem from stubbornness. He was struggling on the inside, she was painfully aware of that. Her thoughts turned over and over. How could she help him? How could she prevent him from shutting her out? And then, she realized, there was one thing she could say. Something she had witnessed and kept to herself until now—something she hadn't intended to ever mention to anyone. In her heart, she knew it would get a response from him. She decided to follow her instincts.

"I know how much you care for Adam," she repeated, trying to sound calm and not nearly as anxious as she felt. With a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "I have seen it with my own eyes. That night, when he got into a fight at the saloon and he showed up at the house _drunk . . ._ " She halted there and her uncle still refused to look her way. But she could tell by his stiffened posture that she had his full attention. "He was in such a terrible state," she continued quietly. "You were so very confused by my behavior, by my leaving him after you had tended to his injury. You wanted me to stay with him but I—" Her voice broke and went away from her as the anguish of that horrible incident overcame her. Blinking hard, she pushed past it. "But I _couldn't_." She looked hesitantly at her uncle. "Later that night . . . I heard you."

In a split-second, his eyes collided with hers, widening just slightly. They quickly darted back to the hearth. "You heard what?" he asked warily.

Closing her eyes, Madeline relived the painful memory. "It was hours later. I couldn't sleep, I was so concerned about Adam. I thought you had gone to bed and left him to sleep in the examining room, so I went down to check on him." She swallowed down the mounting tightness in her throat and forced her eyes open. "And that was when I heard you. Both of you."

Her uncle held himself completely still—only his eyelid twitched. The air grew thick with tension between them, as if an emotional powder keg had been set and might go off at any second. All Madeline could hear was her own breathing, her own rapid heartbeat.

"He was having a nightmare . . . wasn't he?" she whispered.

A log popped in the fireplace. The doctor was quiet for a long time. So long, she wasn't sure he would even reply. He stared off into the fire and the flames reflected in his glazed, grey eyes like liquid silver. Then eventually he breathed out, the tension leaving his body as he spoke in a manner that sounded older and wearier than she had ever heard him. "It isn't my place to speak to you about this, Madeline."

She gave a faint nod of understanding. "I will not ask you to tell me about it. But I heard you, Uncle Paul. I heard you talking to him. Soothing him . . ." Her lips lifted tremulously. "Much like I imagine Ben would have done." Her uncle bowed his head and touched his forehead between his eyebrows. She went on, her chest contracting painfully. "You sat up with him the entire night, caring for him . . . refusing to leave him alone. And when he left the next day, you sent word for his family to make sure they would come for him and keep him safe." Her voice descended to a whisper. " _How_ can you think that he does not _need_ you?"

The doctor's eyes swooped shut at her question. He rubbed the spot between his brows, his profile silhouetted by the fire. She regarded him lovingly, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes "Adam may have been too out of sorts to realize what you did for him, but you were there when he needed you."

Weakly, his shoulders drooped. "It wasn't enough."

She reached for him. "Listen to me—"

"No, it wasn't enough!" he suddenly exclaimed and turned to her fiercely, his features charged with emotion. "Since the lad came back from this blasted war, I've watched him go from bad to worse and I have been unable to help him. Just two weeks ago, he was in the worst condition I've ever seen him and I couldn't get through to him. I was utterly useless!" He threw his arms up in a helpless gesture. "The best I could do was plead with you to go and see him—and I did that without even realizing the danger you were in!" His arms dropped heavily as he hung his head. "Whatever I do, I . . . it's no use. I was unable to help Adam just as I was unable to help you."

Madeline gaped at him. "Help _me_?" With shaking fingers, she grabbed at one of his hands. "Uncle, please, I don't—what do you mean?"

A tense moment passed before he finally raised his head, facing her directly. She was completely stunned by the turmoil she saw churning in his grey depths. He pulled his hand free of hers and pointed a finger at her. "I _failed_ you . . ." His throat bobbed and his finger shook. "That . . . that _despicable_ excuse of a man came into my own house and he . . . he hurt you. He hurt the most precious thing in the world to me and I just stood by and let it happen." He heaved a breath, his expression twisting in anguish. "He took you away right from under my nose . . . and I did nothing."

Cold realization slammed into Madeline like an iron fist. Her heart, sight, hearing—everything was suspended as her brain finally caught up and she understood what he was talking about.

"I did _nothing_ ," he repeated in a raspy whisper. "I was forced to rely on Adam and the rest of the Cartwrights to save you. And Lord knows what would have happened if they hadn't. Lord only knows . . ." he trailed off on a trembling note and looked away.

Her hands fell limply to her lap. She could only stare at him as her mind reeled in shock. _He blamed himself! He blamed himself for what Ray had done to her!_ Her lips moved but she couldn't form words. She felt as though she was breaking apart on the inside.

Her uncle tipped his head back and looked up at the ceiling with misted eyes. "I failed you once before . . . when you were just a child. It was the biggest regret of my life." He released a wet snort. "Up until a week ago, that is. And this too, I shall carry with me until the day I die." The tiny tremors in his chin wrenched her heart. Abruptly, he wiped at his face with angry movements. "So, you see, just as Adam doesn't need me, it has become very clear that you have no need for me anymore either. Especially not while you have him. Clearly, he is much more capable of ensuring your safety and happiness than I."

Madeline's chest felt so tight, she could barely breathe. Like a crashing wave, her emotions welled up inside her and she pressed her palm to her mouth in a vague attempt to stem it. "Oh, Uncle Paul . . ."

"I don't want your pity, Madeline," he snapped, his gaze flashing briefly in her direction. His shoulders shook as he pushed an unsteady hand through the wisps of hair covering his scalp.

The world began to blur as tears filled her eyes. On impulse, she took hold of his hand laying on the armrest and held tight. "Do you really not see?" she choked out. " _You_ are the only reason I am even sitting here now. You were the one who searched for me. It was _you_ who found me in Georgia and brought me out here. Do you remember the first month I was here? I could barely even leave the house—I was in such an awful state. If not for you, I-I—" She blinked and slow tears escaped down her cheeks. "You opened your home to me. You provided for me. You gave me all your love and you made me feel safe and protected in a way that I had never known before. You offered me a chance at a new life." Her voice caught in her throat and it took all her strength to bring it back. "Uncle Paul . . . _you_ saved me long before Adam did."

Those last words, barely above a whisper, hung in the air between them. She could only imagine what it must have taken of him to face her at that moment. But he did. He turned his head towards her, hesitantly, and regarded her with a searching expression. Raw emotion glimmered in his eyes. She looked straight into them, and despite her best effort, she felt her lip wobble. In response, his forehead creased and his mouth tightened in a harsh line. But to no avail; one glistening tear rolled its silent way down his face. Then, another. Madeline let her own tears fall unhindered. He bowed his head then, breaking the eye contact. She sat quietly, watching his expression change as he struggled with himself and with her words. Slowly but surely, relief started to settle in with her, easing the pain. Although the knowledge that her uncle had been suffering in silence with his guilt and doubts burned in her heart, at least now she knew about it. At least now, she had said what needed to be said. She only hoped it would be enough. When he took a series of deep breaths, she knew he was attempting to compose himself. She wiped her face and stroked his hand, giving him the time and the room he needed.

About a minute later, he seemed to have himself back under control. He sat slightly hunched over and stared down at his lap, his free hand fidgeting with the armrest of the chair. "I, erhh . . ." He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "I really must apologize to you, my dear. For upsetting you and for not being there when you needed me." His eyes lifted to hers. " _And_ for my . . . well, my less than becoming behavior this past week." He ducked his head again. "I, ah . . . well, in hindsight, I suppose I have been a tad hard on Adam. I probably could have handled our . . . _disagreements_ in a more suitable manner." He shifted a little in his seat and Madeline's heart melted with affection. "And just so you know," he said, his voice turning gruff, "I may be old, but I am not stupid. I am quite aware that I have been intruding on the two of you. Although, I admit that it was a, uh, a deliberate act on my part." Those last few words were mumbled in a rush as he quickly looked down.

Madeline couldn't prevent the soft smile that came to her face. Oh, she knew her uncle well. Better than he realized. She rubbed his fingers gently. "Uncle Paul, I do love him, so very much. And I do need him . . ." She leaned closer to the doctor, placing her hand on his cheek. "But that does not mean that I love or need _you_ any less."

There was a moment's hesitation before his eyes rolled upward, uncertainly. She made herself hold his gaze, unwaveringly, assuring him that she meant it. He gave the barest nod of his head. Then he harrumphed abruptly in that Uncle-Paul-way and muttered, "Yes, yes, ah, very good." He pulled her hand from his cheek and patted it brusquely while making a discreet attempt at flicking a last errant tear away. "I, errh . . ." he began. "Well, after this talk, I think it would be wise if you considered staying here with the Cartwrights a little while longer."

Madeline's smile instantly faded. "I am going home with you tomorrow, of course . . ."

She gave his fingers a firm squeeze to emphasize her intent.

He harrumphed again like he had something stuck that wouldn't quite clear. "Now, I just think that with the lad and all, you know, it . . ." He stumbled over the words. "Well, we both know that Adam would much rather be rid of me and spend time with you in private. It's quite safe to say that I've overstayed my welcome, at least in his opinion." As if to ease the statement, he followed it with a short, nervous chuckle that caused a sting in her heart. She opened her mouth to object, but he held up his hands. "Now don't you deny it. It's the truth." His expression softened with a peculiar, almost wistful smile. "Besides, he needs you. You've changed everything for him . . . just as you did for me." He firmed his jaw. "So, I think you should stay here for a while. In fact, I insist on it. I do believe it would be best for you and, for the time being at least, _I_ am still the one responsible for your welfare."

Just barely, Madeline resisted the urge to shake her head at him. She eyed him meaningfully, her exasperation warring with sympathy. "Uncle Paul," she said with quite a bit of steel in her voice. "I have absolutely no intention of letting you ride back into Virginia City by yourself after all that has happened. Now stop this nonsense immediately. We will face the town folk together as a family. And that"—she touched her forefinger to the tip of his nose—"is that."

For a split-second, her poor uncle looked rather cross-eyed and stunned. Then, the ghost of a smile crept across his face. His eyes sparkled as he raised a hand and pressed his own finger to her nose. "I used to do that with you when you were just a child . . ."

Suddenly overcome with the need, she leaned forwards and wrapped her arms around him, laying her chin on his shoulder. "That is why I did it."

She felt his arms settle around her, tightly, and heard him sigh out a breath. They sat like that for a few moments, simply holding one another. To her dismay, Madeline felt a fresh bout of tears spring to her eyes and she fought valiantly to keep them at bay. This really had to stop. Finally, her uncle gave her back three gentle pats and she drew back.

He harrumphed once more, bringing a fond, if trembling smile to her lips. "Very well, very well," he muttered, "we'll go back together." He studied her, an unsure look on his face. "But what about Adam?"

Madeline lowered her gaze. _Yes, what about Adam?_ Would he be all right? Was she doing the right thing by leaving him now when he was struggling? Honestly, she didn't know. But she had made a decision now and she needed to stand by it.

"His father and brothers will be here to look after him," she said and raised her chin.

Her uncle's eyes traced over her, filled with concern. She offered him a smile of reassurance, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. His mouth lifted a fraction. "All right. If you're sure that this is what you want."

"It is, Uncle."

He gave a slow nod and with a final pat to her hand, he released it.

Madeline folded her arms around herself, adjusting her shawl which had drooped from her shoulders. She knew her uncle wouldn't try to talk her out of leaving again, it was settled now. That, in itself, was a relief. She just hoped that Adam would understand her decision and that he wouldn't take it the wrong way. After all, even though she would be returning to Virginia City, her heart would remain here on the Ponderosa, with him . . .

"Well, this has rather lost its appeal, hasn't it?"

Her uncle's question interrupted her thoughts and she turned her attention back to him. He was holding up his teacup, eyeing the now cold contents with distaste.

"Goodness, I completely forgot," she said and turned on the coffee table to grab her own cup in the fleeting hope it would still be drinkable. Before she could attempt a sip, her uncle snatched the cup from her hand. "Don't you concern yourself with that. I'll go out and make us some nice, hot chocolate instead." He pulled himself out of his chair laboriously after sitting down for too long. Bending with a grunt, he picked up his own cup and added, "I'll pour this away without Hop Sing noticing, so don't you worry."

Her lips quirked faintly. "Thank you, Uncle . . ."

He flashed her a brief smile before heading towards the dining room. "I'll be right back," he said over his shoulder. "Meanwhile, prepare yourself for a crushing checkers-defeat."

Her eyes tracked him through the dining room until he disappeared around to the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight, Madeline's smile disappeared. She bowed her head and tried to take a long breath, but to her surprise, she couldn't. The lingering pressure in her chest and throat wouldn't allow it. She was forced to let the air back out and take shallow breaths instead. Lord, what a day this had been. First, hours of worrying and then this distressing confrontation with her uncle. She was now left completely exhausted by it all. Her emotions had swung so rapidly, from one extreme to the other and the force of them had drained her—utterly drained her of energy. Resting her elbows on her knees, she cradled her face in her hands and pressed her palms against her eyes, sore now from her crying. She supposed they must look awfully red and swollen. Really, she ought to do something about that. She ought to go and get herself cleaned up. But even that seemed too big a task. Oh, she was so very, very tired now . . .

The hollow chime of the grandfather clock startled her. She spun around on the coffee table. _Seven o'clock!_ It was seven o'clock and Adam and the others still weren't back. She listened carefully for a moment and realized the rain had picked up again. What had been a tranquil pitter-patter on the roof minutes ago was now becoming a harsh, heavy downpour. A fresh spike of worry shivered through her. _Where were they?_

She tore her sight from the grandfather clock and focused on the front door. That feeling of dark despair was creeping up on her all over again. And she knew that she would find no rest until the Cartwrights were home safe and sound.

xXXx

Half an hour and three lost checkers games later, Madeline was clinging to her composure by a thread. She could barely hear her own thoughts over the rain. She sat chewing the inside of her cheek, turning a white checker piece over and over in her hand. Her nerves were stretched almost to breaking point, and the glances that her uncle had started to shoot at the grandfather clock were by no means comforting her. It was fairly impossible to concentrate on a checkers game. Still, she decided on her next move and reached across the checkerboard when suddenly—a faint sound from outside penetrated the downpour. The sound of horses.

She dropped the checker onto the coffee table and jerked her head up. "Did you hear that?"

Her uncle looked towards the front door and opened his mouth, but before he could even reply, she leapt up from the settee. Her legs wobbled unnervingly under her as she lifted her skirts and rushed across the floor. Just as she made to grab the door latch, the front door opened and Hoss appeared before her with his ample frame filling out the entire doorway. He was soaking wet; water ran down his face in rivulets, and his wide-brimmed hat drooped over his ears like a sodden rag. In spite of all that, he shot her a particularly broad version of his trademark gap-toothed grin.

"Evenin' Miss Madeline!"

"Oh, my word, come in!" she cried and swiftly stood aside, holding the door open for him.

"Yes, Ma'am." He removed his hat with a grimace and stepped into the house. "Dadburnit—I tell ya—it's a right toad-strangler out there."

She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"It's raining heavily, my dear," Ben clarified as he came through the door behind Hoss.

Equally as sodden as his son, the oldest Cartwright sent her a tired smile before releasing a groan of relief as he too removed his soggy hat.

"Oh, I see," Madeline said absently.

Her uncle appeared beside her and moved towards Ben. "Heavens, let me help you out of that coat."

"Thank you, Paul. The storm caught us off guard a bit."

"I'll say!"

While the commotion went on around her, Madeline stood by anxiously, trying to see around Hoss who still blocked half the doorway as he began removing his gun-belt. _Where was Adam?_

Rushing into the house next was Joe, dripping wet like the other two. There were splotches of mud all over his green jacket and his hair lay clinging to his forehead, falling into his eyes beneath the sopped brim of his hat. He didn't even see Hoss and as a result, bumped into him.

"Ughh! What are you standing around here for—let me in!" He brushed past his big brother and jerked his hat off. With clattering teeth, he strode to the middle of the room, stopped and shook himself like a dog—sending a spray of droplets onto the carpet and floor.

"Joseph!" Ben admonished, "Tarnation, boy, don't do that . . ."

He had more reprimanding words in store for his youngest, but Madeline heard none of them. All other sounds faded from her hearing as the rapid thumping of boots on the porch seized her full attention. And then, _finally_ , Adam appeared in the doorway. The breath seemed to squeeze out of her lungs and her heart skipped. Drenched from head to toe, rainwater dripping from the brim of his hat, he stepped inside the house and closed the door behind him. She drank up the sight of him—alive, safe and whole. He winced as he shrugged out of his jacket and some particular part of her took notice of how his clothes were plastered to his body—how his muscles flexed under the clinging fabric of his shirt. He took off his hat, wiped his forearm down his face and then, as he looked up, his eyes connected with hers. She regarded him with apprehension, allowing her gaze to caress his rugged features just as her fingers ached to do. There was nothing she wanted more than to go to him. _Touch_ him. Be close to him. But after the way he had left in the morning, she was uncertain. If he was still upset with her, he probably wouldn't want her attention. Or her closeness.

Her worries were somewhat allayed when he placed his hat on the long dresser and spoke softly, never looking away from her. "We didn't find anything. There was no trouble."

Then he started towards her and she couldn't help but notice the fatigue in the way he moved, the level of weariness in his voice. As he approached, the relief of having him home safely overwhelmed her and she dropped her chin, breathing in deeply to steady herself. His hand appeared in front of her, extended and waiting for her to take. After wavering briefly, she did. His fingers were cold and wet, but they wrapped around hers strongly. She peered up at him when an alarming thought sprang to her mind, instantly chilling her relief. Without asking him for any sort of permission, she quickly undid the button at his left cuff and rolled the sodden sleeve up. And _there_ —just as she'd feared—the gauze around his wound was soggy and cold and already starting to come undone.

"This bandage is completely soaked through!" Her widened eyes shot up to his. "Adam!"

"Madeline, it's—"

"No, it certainly isn't fine," she interrupted, somewhat squeakily. "You stubborn man!"

 _Of all the exasperating, willful_ . . . She began unwrapping the squishy gauze, vaguely aware of the tremor in her fingers.

"Are you all right?" he abruptly asked.

Taken off guard by his question, Madeline quickly looked up at him. At first, his eyes were narrowed and assessing as he studied her, but then he apparently saw something that made his expression change. His appraising look was replaced by a concerned one and there was something so soft, so tender in his hazel pools—it made her heart beat painfully out of rhythm. She swallowed convulsively, surprised to feel the tell-tale sting of tears building behind her eyes. At that second, the urge to cry was so strong that she had to press her lips firmly together to keep them from wobbling. Her hands fell away from his arm, but he caught her wrist with his fingers.

"You've been upset," he said quietly.

The words were so gentle, it felt as though the sound of his voice wrapped around her heart and squeezed. She dipped her chin, struggling mightily. No, she wouldn't cry again—not _now_ —not in front of him. For Lord's sake, the man was soaking wet and exhausted, he didn't need to come home to such dramatics! It just wouldn't do. She fought with all her might to keep the impending tears back and pulled her hand free of his.

"N-no, I haven't . . ."

Her denial sounded pitiful even to her own ears. She dared a small glance up at him, but when his eyes gentled even more on her, it simply became too much. Some sort of odd whimper-huff burst out of her. Appalled at herself, Madeline quickly turned around, but she only managed a half-step away from him before his hand grasped her elbow, staying her.

"Sweetheart . . ." He tugged her towards him. "Come 'ere."

Too overwhelmed, too exhausted by emotion, she didn't struggle when he gathered her to him. It was the only place she wanted to be at that moment. Promptly, her body gave in and molded itself to the hard strength of his and she couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Finally wrapped in his arms, she was unable to hold back any longer and she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the comforting scent of him. He smelled of leather, the freshness of rain and the lingering spice of his morning cologne—a blend so appealing and masculine, she wanted to breathe it in forever. Everything about him was comforting to her. The feel of his hard body pressed against hers, the way his arms locked around her protectively, the soothing circles his hands began rubbing over her back. Although he was cold, she felt the strong beat of his heart. She felt his cheek settle on the top of her head and the vibration in his chest of his voice as he said, "I'm sorry I left you like that earlier. I didn't know you'd be so worried . . ."

Madeline made herself pull back so she could look up at him. "It wasn't just that, Adam, I-I . . ." A single tear spilled over the lower edge of her eye and ran down her cheek. "I just—oh, this was just a . . . terribly difficult day."

"I know, honey," he murmured. "But everything's all right now."

She bowed her head. Oh, how she wanted to believe that. If only for a moment.

"Hey . . ." He put his hand under her chin, lifting her face up. " _Everything_ is all right now."

She stared into his eyes as he gazed down at her with that look of infinite tenderness. With what she knew was love. The same aching love she felt for him, so powerful it still frightened her at times.

She nodded with a sniffle. Then she touched his damp shirt-collar, her concern returning. "You must change into some dry clothes. Or you might catch a cold . . ."

His half-smile played at his lips while he brushed something wet off her cheek with his thumb. "I will. But no more tears." He caressed the side of her face. "All right?"

Not trusting her voice to work, Madeline closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. As she focused on his touch, it was as if the strain of the day slowly began to ebb away. But before she'd had nearly enough, suddenly it was gone. His hand dropped away and she sensed his body tense up. Confused, she opened her eyes, but the sound of footsteps behind her alerted her to the cause of his sudden reaction. She turned around, already knowing who was approaching.

"Ahem. I think it might be a good idea if I checked on that," her uncle said in a subdued voice and gestured to Adam's arm. "If you wouldn't mind."

Hesitantly, Madeline turned back to Adam. A guarded expression had settled on his face and his compelling, hazel gaze had turned chilly as it aimed directly at the doctor.

She touched his arm carefully. "Please, Adam . . ."

His eyes flickered her way.

She gave him her softest look. " _Please_. . ."

He wavered, a muscle flicking in his jaw. Then he sighed out a long, relenting breath and his shoulders and back sank as the rigidness seemed to seep out of his body. She gave his arm a little rub and forced a smile of encouragement.

"Very good," her uncle said, stepping aside with an _after-you_ motion towards the staircase. "It shouldn't take long."

Tiredly, Adam scrubbed a hand down his face and after giving Madeline one last look, he turned and began walking stiffly in the direction of the stairs. The doctor followed closely behind him.

Madeline watched the two with a mixture of relief and concern. However, she caught onto the quietness of the room and a brief glance around made her realize that the other three Cartwrights had witnessed and listened to the exchange. There were expressions of concern and blatant exasperation on both Hoss's and Joe's faces as they eyed their older brother. And—judging by the significant look that Ben speared Adam with as he passed him on the way to the stairs—the father had likely had every intention of intervening if his firstborn hadn't seen sense himself.

"WHERE YOU BEEN?! You all late, food get COLD!"

Everyone turned towards the dining room as Hop Sing came rushing forwards with an outraged look on his face, waving his arms about. No one got a word out before he switched over to a choppy, high-pitched stream of Cantonese as he began fretting over the soaked and grimacing Cartwrights who, by now, had caused numerous puddles on the floor. Madeline watched the chaos unfold; Ben trying to placate the little cook, though without much luck, Hoss and Joe making a swift escape to the washroom while Adam and her uncle picked up the pace up the stairs.

Her heart filled with affection for all these men, and for the wonderful, caring family they made. Obstinate and exasperating as they could all be, they were fine, decent men who would do anything for one another. And, she realized, if she were every so fortunate as to become a part of this family, she would be happier than she'd ever dreamed possible.


End file.
